True Lies
by MissCuddles
Summary: He lied to himself. He lied to her. It was a high time he set some things straight and come clean. If to anybody, he owed it to himself, to the life he never had. Huddy, House/Wilson friendship. Angst/Medical Drama/Love. A handful of strong M-rated chaps.
1. Intro

* * *

"_**The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable"  
President James A. Garfield**_

* * *

Nikki, Andie **&** Simone


	2. Prologue

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Prologue~

House sat in his messy living room and slammed the empty scotch bottle on the wooden table.

"I neeeeed," He took a long breath, "Ta call, Jimmay." He announced to his empty apartment.

He leaned forward and clumsily grabbed the grey portable phone from the table and dialled a familiar number as he lay back on the couch.

"What do you want, House," Wilson answered with a yawn.

"I neeeeed…. Ta tellllll ya sumtin." He slurred as he picked up his scotch bottle, only to put it back on the table, disappointment written all over his unshaven face.

"What? House, are you drunk?" His friend asked with a mix of confusion and concern.

"Naw, Jimmy….I was jus havin sum scotchhhhh." He responded as he lifted his right leg up and rested it carefully on the table in front of him, effectively knocking the empty scotch bottle onto the floor.

"House, it is 3:00am. I do not have time for this. I am hanging up now…"

"NO! Jimmay, I neeeeeed ta tell ya sumtin immmpor…taaaant." House yelled as his eyes went wide with fear that Wilson would hang up on him.

"Fine, but make it quick," He sighed as he propped his pillows up and leaned his back against them; knowing House, this could take a while. Especially since, he was drunk.

"I made a bigggg mistakkke….I wasss ssnot suppppossssssed ta dooo that!" He admitted slowly.

"Ok, House. Explain, please." Wilson asked completely confused with the confession his friend just made. No reply.

"House?" He asked again. A long beep emitted from the phone. House had hung up.

"What was that all about?" Wilson mumbled to himself before putting the phone on the bedside table, and turning off the light, finally able to go back to sleep.

* * *

House was left lying down on his couch, passed out with the phone lying on the floor beside the couch.


	3. Fetal Position

Disclaimer - We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 1~

Lisa Cuddy was lying in a fetal position on the floor of her bathroom. She had woken up around 2:00am and had many conversations with the ever-so-kind toilet.

Her hair was damp with sweat and her body was exhausted for vomiting non-stop for the past five hours. Her alarm had gone off about an hour ago, and she knew that if she was going to go to work, she had to get this under control.

She grabbed a black garbage bag that she found underneath the sink, and walked slowly to the kitchen. She had to stop twice on the short walk to her destination, and knew that it was not going to work.

Breathing slowly, as if to procrastinate the vomiting cycle, she picked up the phone and dialed the familiar number of her assistant.

"Yes, I am calling in sick…yes, please cancel all of my appointments ... no, I think it's something I ate last night," Cuddy told her assistant, pausing almost at each word she uttered, as she felt the nausea overcoming her once again.

With the last atom of her strength she muttered a weak 'thank you' and closed her eyes. She hung up and dropped the phone to the floor, opening the garbage bag in the process.

_Was it the half-eaten, almost cold Thai food from last night or the Vanilla Caramel Fudge Wilson brought over 3 days ago?_ She tried to remember as she crawled back to the bathroom sink to wash her face.

She looked at herself in the mirror only to find her face hollow and her cheekbones sticking out, her lips purple-blue and sweaty curls sticking to her temples. She slowly cupped her hands together and splashed her tortured face with cold water.

_This is not how I imagined it_, she thought to herself as she repeated the motion several more times. A small sarcastic smile appeared on her face, only to die a few seconds later.

She never was a quitter but this state of helplessness was draining her both physically and emotionally.

When she decided to proceed with the IVF, after many failed attempts and already quitting once, she told herself that she would move forward and fight every single obstacle that got in her way: her family, her workplace, even her status of a single woman. After all, who were they to judge?

As she leaned forward and vomited her soul out for what seemed to be the hundredth time that morning she started doubting her decision. _I am never going to get through this alone, _she thought in panic wiping off her mouth as her tears fought their way forward, defying all those firm decisions she made the day she found out she was pregnant.

* * *

It was a sunny afternoon in mid May, slightly more than 3 months ago, and she'd just returned from work.

She had a funny feeling her body was acting up, in an unusual way, and deep down she knew something had changed. That she had changed. She rushed to the bathroom to retrieve her over-the-counter pregnancy test and sat quietly on the toilet seat while awaiting results.

Those three minutes then seemed like three years; she cracked her fingers nervously and taped her foot on the bathroom tiles in anticipation. When the time came to check the result she dropped the purple-white stick on the bathroom floor because she could not stop her hands from shaking. She didn't want another disappointment, another failure.

It seemed to her, then, that it was something she could not live with – _emptiness_.

She forced herself to pick up the stick from the floor, swirl it in her fingers to the little window facing up, and stared at it, in delirium, for the next 15 minutes.

The little purple lines inside the square window had just given her another reason to live, another reason to fight. She was expecting a baby. _Her baby_. The dam of emotions broke free as her brain finally registered what had just happened. She cried, laughed, giggled and wept, all at once, never failing to pat her stomach as she remembered that she was with child.

Just like today, but for utterly different reasons, she curled up on her bed in a fetal position. She closed her hands across her abdomen as she tried to imagine her child, what would it be like, how much would it take after her and how much after the donor #715 she had carefully picked, would it have a blonde or brown hair, blue, green or dark eyes?

She gently cradled herself into sleep, oozing happiness out of every pore. She promised to herself and to her child before she dozed off, that she would fight for its well being and its happiness if that was the last thing she'd do.

_Today, it seemed to her, she broke that promise as her strength was failing her. She thought she would be a lousy mother. _

* * *

Three months have passed quickly and she enjoyed every minute of her calm and hassle-free pregnancy.

Here and there she would have morning sickness but nothing she wasn't prepared for. By the end of her second month the morning sickness rituals had stopped altogether. Lisa Cuddy was a textbook example of a healthy, happy expecting mother.

By the beginning of July she started wearing comfier, natural fabric clothes that allowed her spontaneous movement and lots of air. She even stopped wearing her signature stilettos and opted for ballerina flats. That was the time when everyone at PPTH noticed the change on her. _Her glow. Her happiness. Her maternal softness_.

And although she hadn't explicitly announced it, the unspoken truth was out in the open and everyone knew. Nurses softly whispered about it, Chase was already taking early bets on the kid's gender, Wilson was protectively allowing her to cut in the line in the cafeteria and the maternity ward staff was beaming in happiness every time she walked in. Everyone seemed to have taken the happiness pill.

Everyone except him, the infamous Gregory House.

And while she wondered why House never warmed up to the idea of her having a child, although he personally helped her with the hormone injections and encouraged her to continue with the IVF after she lost Joy, another shiver came from her insides.

She lowered her head into the sink and let her guts spill out, yet again. Finally her legs gave out, winning over the white-knuckled hands holding onto the sink.

She collapsed on the floor.


	4. PPTH's Most Eligible Bachelor

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 2~

Chase was taking in the last bets for that day. He used his lunch break to accept bets and pay out winnings, if there were any. Although he had five lucrative bets open, Cuddy's child attracted the most attention and bets since it was almost a safe deal. Chase looked up from his make-shift betting station and noticed House limping in through the main door,

"House, are you in?" Chase asked as he waved him over with some dollar bills

"Yeah genius, I am in. If you didn't notice me come in through that door maybe you should get your eyes checked," he said dryly.

"That's not what I meant. Are you in on the 'Cuddy's baby' bet?" he looked almost ashamed as he asked him again.

"No!" House raised his voice slightly as he strolled by the nurse's station to the elevators.

Chase was still looking in his direction, visibly shocked, when Wilson joined him in front of the elevators.

"You have nothing better to do than follow me around?"

"I am not following you around, House. I am coming back from my lunch break"

"And you didn't invite me?"

"You were not here. I haven't perfected our telepathic connection yet, House but I am working on it," Wilson gestured as to establish a connection between their heads.

House squinted at Wilson, pursing his lips.

"House, what are you doing?"

"Shush Jimmy I am trying to tell you to get lost" House squinted his eyes even harder

"Oh that's very mature," Wilson said with a half-chuckle, "By the way, where have you been? Did you just come to work?" he looked at his watch, "It is almost 1:00pm!"

"None of your business," House mumbled as he looked to the floor.

"Well it is my business given your drunken behavior on the phone last night, and it will soon be Cuddy's business too. Speaking of which, do you know where Cuddy is?" Wilson changed subjects quickly sensing that House did not want to talk about his latest scotch-induced outburst at 3 am.

For a second the question spiked House's attention but he concealed it well under the expression of boredom, away from Wilson's knowledgeable eyes. He turned his head away from his friend and looked at the elevator's shiny wall.

"How should I know? I only keep her PMS calendar"

The elevator door opened and they both stepped out.

"But since she won't be PMS-ing for another 6 months, I have taken a leave of absence. Hey, I am thinking of going to Cuba"

"Seriously?" asked Wilson lifting his eyebrows since he only heard the last sentence House said.

"No, you moron" House blurted and started walking towards his office. Then he stopped and added over his shoulder, "Hey Jimmy, Cuddy has a hot new babe for her PA. Go check out. She _might_ tell you where the evil boss is."

"Right," added Wilson with a sigh and continued towards his own office.

* * *

Wilson sat behind his desk and picked up the phone.

"Yes, this is Dr. Wilson calling for Dr. Cuddy… you must be her new personal assistant? … Ah, yes, welcome on board Michelle, I hope you like it here at the PPTH," Wilson closed his eyes as he tried to imagine the girl on the other side.

"She called in sick?" he asked with a jerk reaction. He sat up straight in his chair and opened his eyes as a tiny wrinkle formed on his forehead "Did she say from what?" he added worryingly.

"Well thank you Michelle, I will try her cell phone," he hung up quickly only to dial again, this time Cuddy's personal number.

Wilson stared blankly at the wall opposite to his desk as the ringing continued in his ear. She was not picking up. _That is unusual_, he thought to himself since he really knew Cuddy's work habits. The ever-controlling, punctual administrator always answered her business phone.

He quickly jumped to his feet, grabbed his coat and left the office.

* * *

House sat in his office, surrounded by chaotic serenity specific only to him, enjoying the Rolling Stones music blasting from his earphones. At least he thought he was enjoying it. His head tilted back and to a careless onlooker it looked like he was sleeping; although he was far from that. His brain was working faster than it ever had in his life; he was in the _RTM (rapid thought movement)-thinking cycle_ as he liked to call it.

_I gotta talk to Wilson. Finish what I started last night. _He felt like a trapped animal. Although the confinement was not of a physical nature, the burden felt the same. His thoughts were worse than the heavy, metal prison bars and he had no other alternative but to share them and free himself from guilt.

_Is this guilt?_ He asked himself in silence. This revelation felt as if he had put his hand in a pot of boiling water. Guilt was an active feeling associated with emotions and caring and he was certain he lacked both; or consciously opted to lack both. As he slowly got up, ruffling his hair with his fingers, he thought that there must had been some kind of chemical imbalance in his brain since guilt does not come quite out of nowhere. _Maybe it's from the lack of Vicodin_, he thought to himself and popped two pills in his mouth. _I should try something stronger; this stuff is turning me into Wilson!_

He slowly limped to Wilson's office, looking unusually worried, only to find the office locked. He called him once banging shamelessly on the door. There was no response. Then he remembered that Wilson was asking about the evil boss so he hurried towards Cuddy's office. He will drag him out of there on an account of cancer emergency. Wilson would never refuse a dying cancer patient.

He stormed past the new PA, giving her only a quick glance. _Nothing spectacular_, he thought to himself. _Cuddy probably hired a woman with smaller tits to avoid competition, _he rolled the images in his head, _speaking of which, Cuddy's will only get bigger with time_. He laughed devilishly to himself.

"She is not there Mr. …," shouted Michelle as she ran after the limping House

"Dr. House", he turned on his heel and gave Michelle a proper sizing up from head to toe without saying a word or adding a snarky comment. She was wearing a bright hot pink top accompanied with a bright yellow skirt, and neon green ballet flats. Nothing revealing – unfortunately. Her long blonde hair had been pulled back into one large braid. He rolled his eyes, trying to imitate his boss. Then he walked back to the private assistant's table and asked dully,

"Have you seen Dr. Wilson?"

"I am afraid I don't know what Dr. Wilson looks like. I just started 2 days ago," she said sheepishly

"Whoa, that's a new world record for Jimmy." House dropped his jaw ironically, looking around for any familiar faces. When Michelle's expression told him she had no clue what he was talking about, he explained, "I guess he didn't stop by to say '_hello'_, otherwise you would have known" and winked at her. When he looked down at her name placard reading "Michelle _E. Rector_", he joyfully asked,

"What is your middle name Michelle?"

"It's Eleanor Dr. House" 22-year old glanced at him naively

Without any possibility of restraining himself he blurted,

"There's a mouthful", and limped away towards cafeteria.

He felt a need for a quick caffeine fix, his head pounding, and not in a good way.

Halfway to the cafeteria his cell phone started vibrating in his pocket. He gave it a quick glance and answered with sheer amusement,

"The PPTH's most eligible bachelor, how can I help you?"

"House, get your team together and prepare the MRI. I am bringing Cuddy in; the ambulance should be on their way any minute. She is unconscious," Wilson said in one breath, "I am not sure if she had a seizure or not, but all evidence is pointing in that direction," he added awaiting reply from the other side.

House opened his mouth to say something but the words were stuck somewhere halfway in his throat. He was already imagining the worst-case scenario.

"House!" Wilson yelled harder which seemed to get House's attention

"OK," he replied plainly, fear overcoming him instantly.

In order to break the unpleasant silence, Wilson added, "We should be there in 15 minutes."

"Wilson, I…" House started feeling the heavy prison bars close on him again

"Yes?"

"Nothing. I will see you in the ER" House closed his cell phone only to find himself already in the ER with Cameron staring at him in wonder.


	5. Everybody Dies

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 3~

"House, is everything OK?" Cameron asked with unhidden interest

"Yeah, send a _Code Red_ page to Kutner, Taub and Thirteen. Have them come down here. I will call Foreman," he ordered with a firm voice.

"House, what is …" Cameron did not finish her sentence when House cut in sharply

"Cuddy collapsed in her apartment. Wilson is bringing her in. Do not stand there. Go!" he yelled at her. Panic emerged on Cameron's face as she ran towards the paging station.

Ten minutes later the paramedics wheeled Cuddy in, Wilson following closely behind. House arranged the ICU room #3 to be ready when they arrived.

"Nurse bring me an IV drip and Dr. Cuddy's medical file" he pointed with his cane at the nurse standing by.

"You," he looked at one paramedic, "Brief me on her vitals"

"Wilson, go to the IVF clinic and get me her file."

"You knew she was pregnant?" Wilson asked.

"Of course, genius, I am not blind. But _you_ might be deaf! Go!" Wilson jumped and quickly ran down the hallway. The three ducklings had arrived just seconds earlier and were all awaiting instructions from their boss.

The young paramedic spoke first,

"Her temperature is 98.4 F, which is normal" he started but House quickly interrupted him

"I will judge what is normal and what is not, now spit it out idiot," he said angrily

"BP 100/60, pulse is 90, respirations 18 per minute" he exhaled his words in one breath "Her mucus membranes appear dry. She has poor skin turgor and no lesions. Lungs appear clear to auscultation. No audible heart murmurs. We couldn't give her anything since we didn't know if she had any allergies," explained the paramedic quickly.

House looked at the extra personnel and ordered,

"Everyone out. Foreman, Cameron and you three stay" he pointed at the Ducklings. Just then, the nurse with the IV drip and Cuddy's medical file walked in. She handed the file to House and raised the IV drip to his vision field. He nodded and she quickly approached Cuddy's bed. With several swift motions, the nurse inserted the IV drip into Cuddy's right arm. Cuddy was still unconscious.

"Cameron, get me her OB/Gyn in here for the pelvic exam" he ordered and then looked down at Cuddy's medical file. She was allergic to doxycycline. Everything else looked normal.

"Nurse, get an allergy wristband and write down doxycycline on it" the nurse nodded as hurriedly left the room

"You two," he pointed at Taub and Kutner "Do a full CBC, sedimentation rate, urinalysis, toxscreen and chemistry panel", then he turned around and faced Thirteen

"You, check the electrolytes, serum amylase and the arterial blood gases."

Three of them walked out quickly, brushing past Wilson as he walked in with Cuddy's IVF file. Wilson looked at House, the color from his face drained completely, and softly said,

"It appears that she has been vomiting for a long time. There are black bags scattered around her apartment, full of vomit.", and handed him the file

"Pregnant women do that, you know? Vomit. Did you bring it in?" House look down on Wilson like an authoritative teacher.

"House, I found her on the bathroom floor, unconscious. Do you think I had time to think about the particulars?" Wilson asked apologetically

"Fine. I'll go check her apartment later," he added with annoyance quickly shifting his attention to the IVF file

House turned to Foreman and opened his mouth to ask about the MRI when Dr. Richardson walked in with Cameron.

"Dr. House" she nodded in greeting

"Dr. Richardson," he took a deep breath and continued, "We'll need a full pelvic exam" he looked at Cuddy as he uttered the last two words

"We'll need a little privacy, Dr. House" Dr. Richardson mimicked his words

"Of course, you three, with me!" he looked at Cameron, Foreman and Wilson with a military precision and motioned with his cane towards the door.

They walked by the nurse's station, toward the elevators, when House turned over his shoulder and issued an order to the head nurse "I want to be the first one to know when she regains consciousness". She mentally noted the request and nodded to him.

House stared blankly at the elevator door, Cameron, Foreman and Wilson standing behind him_, _in silence_. _His thoughts were a mess. He was a mess, inside out. He was concerned. He was scared...to death. All these feelings, sensations he was long incapable of, were catching up with him. _Is this how guilt feels?_ he asked himself.

The vision of Cuddy, pregnant and helpless in the ER disarmed him completely. _I must be losing my mind_, he assured himself. House was unaware of his surroundings and how his three coworkers stared at him, questioning his emotional state with their eyes; he was also oblivious to the pain showing on his face untilCameron's voice jerked him back into reality,

"House, she isn't dying" she pointed out after observing his face for a minute

"Everybody dies, the difference is from what!" he pushed his thoughts away as if they never existed and entered the elevator.

Back at his office, Taub, Kutner and Thirteen were already waiting with the preliminary results. House walked in, closely followed by Wilson, Cameron and Foreman.

"What do we have?" he demanded as he pushed the glass door

"Severe electrolyte abnormality, blood serum is fine and gas panel is clean" Thirteen opened the differential and handed the results to House

"No infection, CBC is normal, toxscreen is clean," Kutner added and Taub nodded

House approached the white board and started adding symptoms,

**Pregnancy (13th week)**

**Excessive vomiting**

**Abnormal electrolytes (potassium? hypernatremia**?**)**

**Head trauma (fainting?)**

"It could be food poisoning," Forman spoke for the first time, "abnormal electrolytes point to dehydration, excessive vomiting causes dehydration, poisoning causes vomiting."

"You two," he pointed to Thirteen and Kutner, "go to Cuddy's place and get me a sample of her_ rendezvous_ with the sink or black bag or whatever." he gestured impatiently remembering that he couldn't go, in case Cuddy regains consciousness he wanted to be there. He picked up the black marker and added,

**Food poisoning?**

"Poisoning does not explain fainting" Taub added

"Low potassium causes muscular weakness that could result in falling and head trauma," Forman defended his hypothesis

"Hypernatremia causes weakness too, and could induce seizures and coma," Cameron joined in.

"Forman, is that MRI ready?" House pierced him with his cold blue eyes

"Yeah, I've had it on standby for the last 30 minutes," Forman said

"Go see if Richardson finished her pelvic exam and do an MRI. We need to see what's going on there," House ordered, "Cameron, go with him and bring me the pelvic exam results."

Wilson stepped forward and picked up the electrolyte chart. He quickly scanned it before contributing to the differential,

"The calcium levels are elevated. It would explain the nausea, vomiting and fatigue. Various types of cancer cause hypercalcemia: breast cancer, myeloma, lymphoma or leukemia."

House looked at him in terror. He respected Wilson and his expertise and he knew that there was no better doctor in the hospital when it came to oncology. His brain wanted to trust his opinion but his heart refused. _She cannot have cancer_, he pleaded with himself.

Failing to find a reason why his friend was wrong, he limped over to the white board and reluctantly scribbed,

**Cancer?**


	6. Trust

Disclaimer - We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 4~

House, Wilson and Taub remained alone in the conference room. There was a heavy silence all around, so thick and palpable one could cut it with a knife. The eerie feeling in the air, although lacking static electricity, was reminiscent of an oncoming hurricane. Taub looked up from the stash of medical files and slowly said,

"I am going to help Kutner and Thirteen when they come in," he slowly got up and when House nodded without saying a word, Taub walked out. Just then, when he closed the heavy glass door, he exhaled deeply and made his way to the lab. Holding his breath around House was not something he often did; today everyone held their breath.

House and Wilson fixed their eyes on each other, in silence. There was an unwelcome amount of discomfort between them, something neither one of them experienced given all the pranks and humiliation House played on Wilson continuously for the past 9 years. They both knew this was personal; it was way too close to home. Wilson attempted to speak first,

"House…"

"Do you know this means that she will have to give up that, that…" he stuttered, "That child for chemotherapy?" He said slowly. Cancer diagnosis was still present in his mind although he tried to use all his mental power to fight it. He was oblivious to the fact that he just said _child_ instead of _fetus_, for the first time in his medical career.

"It is not the end of the world. It is _her_ life on the line and we need to find what is wrong with her," Wilson added gently using House's logic. He felt as if he was walking on eggshells and that House's foul mood was about to explode any minute "She is depending on us, House! She is depending on you. Off all people in the world she will trust you with her health," Wilson rushed, fearing that House could interrupt him.

"No! She trusts you." he pointed at Wilson with his cane. "You are the one who brings her ice cream at 1am in the morning, carry her work files home, jump at her every whim," he said mockingly as if those little acts of kindness were criminal offenses.

Wilson was shocked with the mind-blowing verbal jealousy he just witnessed. However he quickly realized that this was not the time or place to pry and poke. House's mind and soul, he was quite certain he had a heart too, was a bee-hive. Sticking fingers inside it and poking was gambling; however, this was not time for gambling.

"She is my friend. She is our friend." there was a silent plea in his voice. House sensed it instantly.

"Damn it Jimmy. It's not that easy" House slammed his fist on the conference table and looked up to Wilson who was sitting on the other side. His gaze was icy cold and empty. "My job description does not require diagnosing and treating colleagues and friends. My impartiality…" House took a deep breath but before continuing, Wilson jumped to his feet, theatrically attempting to humor him.

"Your impartiality never stopped you before. Let's see …hmm stealing and eating my food or gluing my fingers together with superglue or embarrassing me in front of just about everyone in this hospital."

"This is _Lisa_ we are talking about, not your super-glued fingers. This is different!" he roared at him like a wounded animal.

"How is this different? You would do the same for me," Wilson stated even though he did not know if it was true.

"How do you know?" House asked childishly.

Wilson slowly walked to him and put his hand on his left arm. Even slower, he added "House, I trust you!"

"See that's it, Wilson. That's the kind of responsibility I don't want. _Trust_. That's the kind of role I don't want to play. I will surely screw up something, you can bet on it", Wilson noticed an inner turmoil building up in House.

When House finally asked, he knew that he had let it loose, "Do you want to be the one to take Cuddy off of life support when I screw up?"

It was there and then that Wilson realized the extent of House's remorse for Amber's death and it was his way of saying he was sorry. By projecting this whole situation onto him he was deflecting but also admitting how Amber's death was breathing down his neck and that there was no way he could be objective professionally. Objectivity requires distancing oneself; _but House is too blind to see that the only way he can go is forward,_ Wilson thought to himself and followed House who was already limping tiredly into his office.

House sharply pivoted on his heel, popped another two Vicodin and inhaled deeply.

Then without any pompous announcement, he let himself open, "It's everything she wanted. It is her dream, what she fought for. I am not allowed to make any mistakes, I am not allowed to be reckless, I am not allowed to be myself and that scares me. It scares me that I will do something stupid and put them both at risk just because I am her attending…speaking of which, why did she put _me_ down as her doctor?" he raised her medical file and shoved it into Wilson's face.

"I am wondering the same thing since you've really gone out of your way to avoid her for the past 3 months" House gave him a raised eyebrow as to ask how he'd know that "Is there anything you want to tell me, House?" Wilson gave it a shot without pushing too much.

"I … who am I to screw it up for her?" he asked with a painful grimace on his face

"Who says you'll screw up?" There was almost something religious in Wilson's voice.

House dejectedly sat in his chair and placed his stubbly face into his cupped hands. With two swift motions he rubbed his cheeks and lips, and looked up to Wilson. He slowly transformed his pain into words,

"I already have."


	7. Ginger Fried Chicken

Disclaimer - We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 5~

"House, what did you do?" Wilson asked only to be interrupted by Cameron and Foreman walking in. Both of them quickly realized that they just walked into a dangerous minefield.

"Wilson, enough of chitchat for one afternoon! Stalling won't get us those paychecks signed" House added nonchalantly "Go poke some needles. Do a CBC again, run the tumor markers and do a biopsy." House turned away denying him a chance to protest. Then he focused on Foreman. Wilson stubbornly remained in his spot.

"What did the MRI show?" House asked Foreman quickly

"A moderate subdural hematoma which explains the convulsions and loss of consciousness. She must have hit her head really hard when she fell, either on the floor or the sink. Everything else is clean. No signs of prior seizures," Forman explained knowledgably, then he added, "Still we don't know what caused the fall" he shrugged his shoulders sympathetically

House scratched his stubble and pulled up the MRI images onto the light board. Before examining them he gave Wilson a _what-are-you-still-doing-here_ look but didn't say anything. Instead he quickly focused on Cuddy's brain imaging. Foreman, Wilson and Cameron grouped behind him and peeked over his shoulder,

"It doesn't look big enough for the craniotomy" there was a sign of relief in his voice "Give her corticosteroids to decrease the brain inflammation and a diuretic to decrease the internal swelling for tonight and put her on respiratory support. Have one of the ICU nurses sit in and monitor her closely" he lashed his orders out and swiftly turned around. The three of them quickly jumped backwards, as if House had just caught them eavesdropping. Foreman rapidly glanced at Cuddy's medical history and added before preparing to leave the office, "_Prednisone_ and _mannitol_ should work." House stopped him in his tracks,

"No! Give her a safe dose of _dexamethasone_."

"House, _dexamethasone_ _also_ causes birth defects," Wilson added in terror implying the negative side effects of prednisone.

"Only in larger doses. We need to prevent the brain swelling before she lapses into coma. You all know that the fetus's chances are minimal if we were to perform a craniotomy. The pretty boy wouldn't be too happy to drill the boss's skull open" He looked at all three of them, nervously shifting gaze from one to the other and said "This is our safest bet and their only chance"

"What about _mannitol_?" Forman asked, suddenly unsure of himself and his expertise.

House sighed deeply and nodded, before putting some wisdom behind his reasoning "The benefits outweigh the risks". Forman walked out, three shades paler than he was when he walked in. _Cuddy survived the night without a craniotomy, but we don't know what tomorrow brings. _

Taub, Kutner and Thirteen brushed past Forman as he exited. Thirteen was carrying lab results and Taub and Kutner seemed to have gathered everything that was relevant from Cuddy's apartment: medication, cleaning substances, take-out food packaging, refrigerator contents, and even her cosmetics. Taub spoke first,

"We checked for everything that could have caused poisoning. All this stuff…" he pointed to the contents of the bag "…is clean for toxins and allergens," Kutner silently approved.

Seconds later Thirteen added, "She had Thai food for dinner last night. Well, some of it. I ran both the content analysis and the toxscreen of the actual food. Nothing unusual, no bacteria. Sanitarily it came clean. However, there was no presence of any other substances in her vomit. She must have been excessively vomiting for more than one day"

"What did she have?" House was curious

"Ginger fried chicken" Thirteen replied

"That's strange" Wilson interfered

"Ha!" House ogled Wilson with his blue eyes "Now you know her feeding habits, too?"

Wilson gawked back and added sympathetically,

"No, you idiot; Ginger is acknowledged to improve digestion and to counteract nausea. It should have calmed her stomach not upset it"

"What are you, a Tibetan medicine man all of a sudden?" House openly mocked him while picking up the Thai take out packaging. He twirled it in his fingers, looking for the name of the restaurant.

"It's from _Lemongrass,_" Cameron stated the obvious. "Chase and I order from it sometimes…" she continued

"Not interested!" House lifted his hand as if to defend himself from Cameron's words and rolled his eyes "You really want to make me nauseous, too?" he squeaked at her faking disgust

Cameron was the closest one standing to House. She tightly gripped her fingers around the medical file in her hands. House brought his face to Cameron's level and grunted out,

"Boo!" with one quick tug he jerked the file out her hands; then he childishly said, "Mine!"

Cameron stared at him, naively in shock, and Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Fun!" House continued with his game and opened the file to read "Now I will know everything about the evil boss's hoo-ha!" he gave them a devilish grin

_**Well-developed Caucasian female, 5'4"**_

_So well-developed it often pops out of her bra, _House imagined Cuddy in her tight little outfits. A shadow of a smile appeared on his face, so small and sad that anyone watching would have mistaken it for a twitch.

_**111 lbs (loss of 5 lbs since her visit at 8 weeks).**_

_**Pelvic examination revealed uterus at mid position, soft, approximately 13-week's size, and adnexa is non-tender, without palpable masses.**_

_Nothing there_, House thought to himself and threw the file on his table. Then he remembered weight loss; _5 lbs in 5 weeks_. He mentally noted that information and focused back on Cameron and Wilson. The three ducklings were standing behind.

"What are you two still doing here? Scoot" he motioned with his hand for them to leave. Cameron was already out the door when Wilson said,

"House…"

"Wilson…" he replied in the tone that resembled boredom

"Fine," Wilson raised both hands in defeat "But I won't leave it at this," then he walked out, dreading the fact that he could not put off the cancer testing he was expected to do.

House finally brought his attention back to Taub, Kutner and Thirteen. With more excitement then originally intended he requested,

"Go and get me a sanitary warrant from the Department of Health. The legal department should clue you in on this even though they are a bunch of losers down there, wasting our precious oxygen." Then he added some spunk, "I got some Thai Bo to do!"

Without speaking a word the ducklings walked out quickly, leaving House to fight his invisible nemesis.

* * *

A/N - Thai Bo is non-contact martial arts based on Thai Boxing and Taekwondo. So basically, House is gonna kick some a$$. lol.


	8. Wicked Game

Disclaimer - We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox. We also do not own the song, Wicked Game, by Chris Isaak.

~Chapter 6~

It was really warm outside. A typical late July night, getting warmer as it was getting closer to August. House, wearing his signature jeans and a Rolling Stones tee and carrying his leather jacket under one arm, limped to his motorcycle. The parking lot was long abandoned. It was getting closer to 8PM and the regular staff had left at 5PM. He would have been home, long ago too, had it not been for Cuddy. Tonight, he will not go home. He will stop by and get showered before returning to the PPTH; but first things first.

He mounted his two-wheeled pet and headed towards the Hill Road.

"Sir, you can't go in there," the Lemongrass hostess ran after House as he stormed towards kitchen showing no courtesy or etiquette.

"Watch me!" House replied with a sneer and held a single sheet of paper up high.

"Sir, please stop," the young Thai hostess tried to reason with him. When she realized she could not stop him verbally, she tugged him by his shirt. It seemed effective. House stopped and looked angrily at her; the entire restaurant was already witnessing the scene. Then something got his attention.

At the table closest to him three businessmen were having dinner, a wide array of ginger chicken, and watching him with their undivided attention as if they were at a dinner theatre. With two precise motions of his cane House overturned two full plates of chicken into gentlemen's laps and said,

"I wouldn't eat that if I were you."

When the third one turned around to protest House's outrageous behavior, he immediately recognized him. It was Cuddy's latest date; the one he successfully crashed several months ago. If he counted correctly that was her last date; she hasn't been seeing anyone since. However, he was unsure if they had stayed in touch. In order to minimize such chances House raised his voice so the entire restaurant could hear him and said,

"Oh, please keep eating. Saint Peter would be delighted to meet you"

Within seconds the _Lemongrass_ manager was attempting to reason with House. He apologized for any inconvenience the takeout could have caused and promised to cooperate in every aspect of the laboratory analysis. He personally escorted House to the kitchen, already initiating some damage control for the havoc House caused. House collected his samples and exited through the restaurant's back door. He looked around; then stopped and raised his left eyebrow: the stench of fried food seemed to have reminded him of something. He mentally noted this epiphany and walked, alone with his thoughts, towards his bike.

House parked his motorcycle close to his front door. He quickly pulled out his key only to hear his home phone ringing. He had no intention of answering it anyway so he let the answering machine pick it up. House wanted to shower as quickly as possible, get some fresh clothes on and get on his way. He had no time for small nuisances.

_You've reached a number that has been disconnected and is no longer in service. If you feel you've reached this recording in error, go with it. Hang up. On three: One, two..., _his answering machine recited meticulously.

Then House stopped and turned towards his phone when he heard Wilson's voice on the other side,

"House, are you there?" There was a ten-second vacuum before House picked up knowing very well why Wilson called.

"Yeah," he said simply showing no emotions in his voice.

"Where have you been? I've tried calling you on your cell but it keep ringing indefinitely" There was a hint of urgency in Wilson's voice.

"I must have left it in my office. Cut to the chase, Wilson," House demanded even though he wasn't sure if he was ready for whatever Wilson had to say.

"House she doesn't have cancer. The CBC came clean again and tumor markers are negative. Her lymph nodes are normal so there is no need for a biopsy." Wilson said quickly in one breath.

There was a heavy silence on the other side. Wilson heard House inhale deeply before he delivered his soliloquy but he wasn't sure if House was still holding his breath.

"House? Did you hear what I just said?" Wilson attempted to shake him back into reality, "She doesn't have cancer."

"I heard you the first time. I gotta go!" House said quickly and hung up. Wilson was left staring at the receiver dumbfounded.

In his apartment, House who meantime collapsed onto his couch, exhaled all that accumulated air and sighed deeply. He placed his head into his hands, rubbed his stubble energetically and thought to himself: _That was close_. Close in many versions of that word; _close_ to showing his emotions in front of Wilson, _close_ to being told she had cancer, _close_ to losing her, _close_ to never being the same man again. With the last thought he shook his head and limped to the bathroom.

He needed a clear head tonight and a warm shower should help him focus and wash away his sins, at least temporarily.

A little past 11pm, House limped back into the PPTH. Two night duty nurses acknowledged his presence and quickly continued with their paperwork. House headed straight to the lab. This time he couldn't give out any orders; everyone had probably gone home already. He was the one holding the fort, the last man standing so to speak. He had to do the kitchen sample lab test by himself.

"House what are you doing?" Wilson asked when he found House peering through the microscope. He instinctively knew he'd find him there.

"What does it look like I am doing?" House replied sarcastically.

"You are running bacterial and viral tests at midnight, all alone. You never do that!" Wilson noted looking at the samples House collected at the restaurant.

"Now, that wouldn't be fun, would it? I am not a people pleaser like you, my bestest friend, and I don't need to prove myself to anyone," House looked up from his microscopic sample and gave a smirk to Wilson.

"Oh, but I think you do! You need to prove it to yourself. There is a reason for all this," Wilson motioned with his hands pointing to the work House was doing, "You care for her, don't you? More than you are willing to admit to yourself or god-forbid anyone else," Wilson added hoping House would open up to him.

When House refused to acknowledge what Wilson said, his friend continued with interrogation,

"Did something happen between you and Cuddy?"

"No!" House responded and shook his head.

"Then why are you mad at her when she is healthy and going out of your way to help her when she falls sick?" Wilson uttered in confusion, "Is this your wounded pride? The fact that she chose an anonymous donor over you?" Wilson tried a different angle but hit a dead end again. House remained silent. He barricaded himself inside his armor and refused to let anyone in.

_This is not as superficial as I thought_, Wilson thought to himself and added out loud,

"If you need to talk about it, you know where to find me. Good night, House." Wilson turned on his heel and exited the lab. Through the glass door he heard House brokenly reply, _Good night!_

House sat in silence and mulled over Wilson's words again and again. _Was it my wounded pride?_ He asked himself as the lab results kept coming out of the printer.

_Pride requires conscience and that was the gene I didn't get, _he assured himself and dry-swallowed three Vicodin; _this will be a long night_, he justified the dosage to himself. Then he quickly picked up the lab results only dump them even faster. _Nothing there._ The restaurant came clean sanitarily. House didn't seem surprised.

Then he remembered the stench of fried chicken in that little alley behind the restaurant. He quickly rose to his feet and limped over to Cuddy's room. He sneaked in and found the ICU nurse sleeping in the armchair next to Cuddy's bed. Cuddy was on respiratory support, pale and thin, like she'd just been through a round of chemotherapy.

The nurse heard him enter and quickly stood up. House motioned with his head that he wanted to be alone with the Dean and the young nurse complied quickly. Finally alone with her, the silence of the room and the heart monitor sound closed in on him.

"Cuddy," He called her and sat on her bed, "I don't know if you can hear me but I need you to wake up" he extended his big hand and closed it over hers, "Only you can give us some answers and I need you awake in order to diagnose you," he added softly. Then he continued in a more mocking tone, "You are not helping me like this and this hospital doesn't run by itself. You need to get that…" Then he stopped with a little chuckle, "…size-able ass out of this bed!"

House wasn't sure what he was trying to accomplish. He wanted her to hear him although it was medically impossible but above all, he wanted to be there, to show her that she wasn't alone. He grabbed his cane and stood up. Before leaving he just added,

"This is not fun! That hospital gown denies me the pleasure of seeing the twins. You better change that or I am filing a complaint!" he said in their regular-banter tone and left the room.

_Cuddy heard him. Deep down, her subconscious registered his presence, his voice, his touch and his concern. Seemed impossible. After all, it could have been a dream; a real one nonetheless. Although her fingers were still warm from his touch she let the darkness take her back. _

House walked back into his office, carrying his jacket under arm and a pair of headphones in his left hand. Without much consideration he threw the jacket on the floor and walked over to his desk and picked up the electric guitar. There was something in him tonight that it just wouldn't let go. He connected the amplifier and headphones thus reserving the sound to himself and excluding all the prying ears out; not that there would be many prying ears at 1am.

He walked over to his armchair and sat in it comfortably, then closed his eyes. He religiously touched the chords and the song just came to him. Whatever he was unable to translate into words or emotions, he poured into the Chris Isaak's Wicked Game…

… _The world was on fire_

_No one could save me but you._

_Strange what desire will make foolish people do_

_I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you_

_And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you, _pain soaked his face as he softly sang

_No, I don't want to fall in love_

_[This love is only gonna break your heart]_

_No, I don't want to fall in love_

_[This love is only gonna break your heart]_

_With you_

_With you_

Cuddy's image appeared in his mind and he tightly gripped his guitar only to have the song affirm what he already knew. Either, his mind was playing tricks on him because he was high or he really felt this way and failed to acknowledge it.

_What a wicked game you play_

_To make me feel this way_

_What a wicked thing to do_

_**To let me dream of you**_

_What a wicked thing to say_

_You never felt this way_

_What a wicked thing to do_

_To make me dream of you_

_And I don't wanna fall in love_

_[This love is only gonna break your heart]_

_And I don't want to fall in love_

_[This love is only gonna break your heart]_

_World was on fire_

_No one could save me but you_

_Strange what desire will make foolish people do_

_I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you_

_**I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you**_

When the last word slipped from his lips he felt his chest tighten. The possibility of losing her drove him insane. Suddenly he remembered Wilson's pearls of wisdom _"You care for her, don't you? More than you are willing to admit to yourself or god-forbid anyone else"_ and realized that he was fighting really hard not to fall in love with her but that he royally failed.

_No I don't wanna fall in love_

_[This love is only gonna break your heart_

_No I don't wanna fall in love_

_[This love is only gonna break your heart]_

_With you_

_With you_

"_This love will break your heart Cuddy_," he told himself and rested the guitar against the wall. For the next two hours the Wicked Game invaded his senses as he attempted to get some sleep. At 3:27am, his mind finally gave in and drifted into the REM cycle.


	9. Cravings

Disclaimer - We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 7~

The phone in his office kept persistently ringing. House opened his eyes and grumpily walked to his desk. He noticed the time on his computer, 6:13am. Without the slightest regard for the person on the other line he grunted, "What do you want?"

"Dr. House, this is nurse Melanie from the ICU. Dr. Cuddy just regained consciousness. You told me…" not allowing her to finish her sentence, House quickly said, "I'll be right down," and hung up the phone. He quickly rubbed his stubbly face and picked up the medical files from his desk. Without too much preparation he headed over to see Cuddy.

* * *

Cuddy slowly opened her eyes. House felt a stab in his throat when he noticed that her eyes lost that specific spark, the playfulness he enjoyed so much when she was smiling, laughing, yelling at him, when she was angry or pouting. Her skin was a porcelain white, almost see-through and she had dark circles around her eyes.

"Hey, welcome back" House attempted to put some humor into his words. He moved the respiratory support piece off her mouth and slightly brushed her face with his fingers.

"Hey," she softly said and looked around the room noticing all the medical equipment and the IV drip in her right arm. "Did I lose my baby?" she asked in terror, visibly shaken, and immediately started crying.

House, completely unprepared for her tears and her pain, stood speechless, motionless. When he realized that his silence had a negative effect on Cuddy he quickly walked over to the mobile ultrasound and wheeled it next to her bed. Then he sat next to her.

"You hit your head really hard in the bathroom yesterday afternoon. There is a medium sized subdural hematoma that, now, is under control." House prepped the machine and slowly revealed Cuddy's bare abdomen. She slightly flinched to his touch but continued looking at his hands in silence, "Your spawn, however, was comfortably nested in your womb and is perfectly fine," he added humorously.

He tried to smile for her as they both turned their heads towards the monitor "It has a head… obviously harder that yours…two arms, two legs and a healthy heartbeat" They both observed the ultrasound image in awe, deeply respectful of the mother nature. They listened to the child's heartbeat in silence.

A faint smile came up on Cuddy's face and she rested her head back on her pillow, too tired to talk. She closed her eyes but stubborn tears kept falling under her eyelashes.

"How long was I out?" she finally asked.

"For about 18 hours" House quickly replied.

"What did you give me for the hematoma?" the doctor in her demanded an answer.

"A safe dose of _dexamethasone_ and _mannitol,_" he almost looked guilty saying it, "It worked, Cuddy. It prevented you from lapsing into coma and having a craniotomy."

"Thank you," she whispered gratefully.

He lowered his head and looked at the tip of his shoes. Almost uncomfortably he squeezed a sound through his lips, "You are welcome."

Still, there were a lot of answered questions between them. Cuddy was itching to find out why House has been avoiding her all this time. On the other side, House, was itching to test his medical theories. Cuddy spoke first, almost pleading,

"House…" she raised her blue eyes and locked them with his. He quickly averted his gaze, mortified that she could read into his soul. He quickly rejected her silent demand and insisted,

"Cuddy I need to test something. It might be really strenuous for your organism right now but I need to be sure," he paused for a second and then asked for her permission "OK?"

In that moment she realized she wasn't just an ordinary patient to him and she quickly nodded in approval. She saw him rise to his feet and call the head nurse.

"Nurse, go and find some fried chicken" he turned to Cuddy and winked at her "our evil boss has a particular craving today, who are we to deny a butt load of carbs?" he said mockingly emphasizing the word _butt._

"House!" Cuddy falsely protested

"I am really worried for your health Dr. Cuddy! Fried chicken at 6:30am?" he continued while the head nurse looked at him in shock. Then he poked the nurse with his cane and semi-shouted "Go!"

"By the way" he turned his attention back to Cuddy "Ginger chicken? Aren't you an ardent vegetarian?" he gave her a questioning look.

"What can I say, weird pregnancy cravings." Cuddy shrugged her shoulders.

"I am sure I don't want to hear the rest," he said in fake disgust "That's just appalling!"

She protectively put her hands on her abdomen and let a shy smile as if to say _don't blame me, blame the brat inside_.

* * *

45 minutes later House was forcing Cuddy to eat an overly fried and greasy chicken. He was cheering her as she tried to swallow the food.

"Is this really necessary?" she asked.

"Yes. Now eat!" he replied with no patience "I am testing you for the chronic _hyperemesis gravidarum (HG)_" he finished his thought.

"With fried chicken?" she raised her eyebrows, too tired to argue.

"Yes. The lining of your stomach responds severely to a combination of frying oil and bread crumbs. Even the smell of it makes you nauseous…" he didn't even finish his last thought; Cuddy was already spilling the contents back. He handed her a huge plastic container he prepared in case this happened and quickly stood up ringing the nurses,

"Well, that solves it" he said enthusiastically, trying to hide the fact that he hated himself for doing this to her. He tried not to watch as she gave the last atoms of her strength with every vomiting cycle. Without too much thinking he approached the bed again and sat next to her, then lashed out his orders,

"Go get me some wet washcloths and 10 mg of _metoclopramide _for her drip."

One of the nurses rushed back in handing the washcloths and the injection to House. He quickly dismissed her and looked back at Cuddy and said, "This will make you feel better" he added the _metoclopramide _to her drip "It will prevent the nausea and those aggressive attacks of vomiting". He laid his cane across her bed and reached her mouth with the wet washcloth. He gently wiped it, locking his eyes on hers.

"House, why…" she mumbled behind the washcloth, attempting to go back to those unanswered questions.

"Shhhhh, enough of brain activity for one morning" he interrupted, referring primarily to her thinking process "You need to rest and enjoy your time off," then he grabbed the second washcloth and wiped her forehead. Without prior announcement he slowly got up, grabbing his cane, to leave.

"House, why are you here so early?" she finally managed to get one question uninterrupted.

He turned around, and with a half-smile responded,

"An over-controlling evil boss put me down as her attending doctor in case of emergency and dragged me out of bed to help her with her tummy-ache" he added a lot of humor in the last word before leaving her room.

30 seconds later the door was opened ajar and his head peeked in, "Rest! That's a doctor's order!"

Cuddy closed her eyes smiling to herself. She enjoyed his attention even if this was the only way she was getting it.


	10. Everybody Lies

Disclaimer - We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 8~

At 8:00am and he didn't have much to do. He had no case, except for Cuddy's. She was doing much better, and he didn't get much sleep the night before. His body was aching from the uncomfortable armchair or he wanted to at least believe so; it was the restless sleep that caused him more pain. Cuddy was running through his dreams, scared and screaming for his attention and he could not help her. Every hour he'd wake up cold in sweat. Without too much thinking he decided to go home. By avoiding hospital and her presence he believed he would finally get some rest and relief from what was bugging him all this time.

_Everybody lies_, he thought to himself, looking for an excuse. _Those who lie, cheat; and those who cheat, are punished_. What will be his punishment? House took his regular dose of Vicodin and sprawled on the king size bed. He hugged his pillow and closed his eyes.

_He lied to himself. He lied to her. It was a high time he set some things straight and come clean. If to anybody, he owed it to himself, to the life he never had. _

Then he decided to think about this later and fell asleep_. _

At 3:00pm, a beeping sound of his pager brought him back. In disbelief he looked down at the little screen feeling as if someone just electrocuted him. He quickly dialed the well known number. Cameron answered.

"What happened?" he asked quickly.

"Her potassium levels are dropping to dangerously low levels, she had some serious muscle cramping earlier," Cameron explained.

"And you are calling me NOW?" He yelled at her, "Get an EKG to make sure her heart is OK, I will be right there," He hung up the phone and grabbed his bad leg to get up. Quickly snatching his cane, he headed for the door.

15 minutes later House stormed in, furious. He limped straight into Cuddy's room. Cameron, Chase, Wilson, Foreman and his team were already there. Cuddy seemed sedated and oblivious to what was going on around her.

"What did you give her?" House demanded.

"Codeine," Cameron replied, visibly shaking.

"How much?" he pierced her with his blue eyes.

"50 mg," Cameron added and quickly justified her answer, "I consulted Dr. Richardson."

"Dr. Richardson is not her attending doctor. I am," he emphasized angrily.

"House!" Wilson interfered and added more harshly than intended, "the world does not revolve around you. Cuddy will be fine," He tried to tone it down and give him some assurance.

Cameron continued, deliberately avoiding House's remarks and his stabbing gaze.

"She is really weak and her stomach is refusing any kind of food. We tried to feed her normally today. She just can't keep it down. Looking at her charts it seems she has lost 20% of her pre-pregnancy weight. This can't only be the HG, House. They are both in danger."

"So it seems…" House added absently.

Cameron was standing next to Cuddy's bed changing her IV drip, trying not to look worried. But her hands were shaking and sweat was rapidly collecting on her forehead. She was unable to connect the IV line to the needle and Chase stepped in.

"Let me do this, you go find the head of cardiology and fill out the necessary paperwork. She will need a place on cardiology tonight. Her heart needs to be monitored closely."

Cameron looked at House and he gave her a nod. She nervously hurried down the hallway.

For a brief second they all stood in silence, running through their own thoughts. House spoke first, turning to his team, "What causes hypokalemia? What have we missed that fits?"

"Apparent mineralocorticoid excess syndrome," Wilson spoke first, "it can also be seen as a deficiency of the 11-beta-hydroxysteroid dehydrogenase type 2 enzyme which allows cortisols to stimulate aldosterone receptors."

He quickly explained and offered more insight, "It is either congenital or caused by consumption of glycyrrhizin, which is contained in extract of licorice, sometimes found in herbal supplements, candies and chewing tobacco."

"But it requires high blood pressure. She was admitted with 100/60," Foreman argued scanning Cuddy's medical file.

"Rare hereditary defects of renal salt transporters, such as Bartter syndrome or Gitelman syndrome, can cause hypokalemia, in a manner similar to that of diuretics," Thirteen contributed twirling a pen in her hand just to keep busy.

"Gitelman's explains mild muscular cramps and weakness and fatigue," Kutner agreed.

"Bartter's explains the low blood pressure and chronic vomiting," Thirteen spoke again.

House looked up from the medical charts, noticeably worried and faced his team, "Taub, Thirteen and Kutner, go check the renin and aldosterone levels first. Then do a new serum panel, a comprehensive metabolic panel and a complete thyroid panel."

Then he turned to Foreman and said "Check for the amniotic fluid level. If it's above 2000 ml we are in trouble."

"House, are you suspecting polyhydramnios?" Wilson asked and sat next to Cuddy on her bed.

"Prenatal Bartter syndrome can be associated with polyhydramnios. Maybe the spawn is sucking all the potassium out of her body," He concluded and pointed to Cuddy.

His team, along with Foreman, hurried out leaving Chase and Wilson behind. Chase quickly contributed, "I'll do the urine work. If you are suspecting Bartter's or Gitelman, we need a 24 hour-worth of urine work. I better start as soon as possible."

House nodded in affirmation and gave Chase a thankful look before he left. 5 minutes later Cameron walked in with the news from cardiology, "Cardiology is ready to take her over. Dr. White is in charge tonight. House, is there anything else you want me to do?"

"Yes. Order a PICC (peripherally inserted central catheter) line to be inserted tomorrow morning if her night goes calmly. She needs a TPN (Total Parental Nutrition)" He said.

Wilson looked up and sympathetically asked, "Is the PICC line necessary?"

"She not eating anything because her organism can't keep it down, she lost 20% of her pre-pregnancy weight and her health is rapidly deteriorating. You are a doctor too, do the math." House's lip twitched a bit when he realized he was a bit harsh on his best friend and then added, more gently, "She needs to fight whatever this is and IV fluids alone are not sufficient."

Two of them walked out of Cuddy's room together, leaving Cameron to arrange the relocation to cardiology, and headed towards the cafeteria. Wilson, well aware of House's concern for Cuddy, gallantly offered tugging him on his left sleeve,

"Come on, I'll buy you lunch."

"You always buy me lunch anyway. If you are trying to make me feel better, cuz somewhere in there I know you care," he poked him on his chest, "Then I need some extra caring today." he added jokingly.

"OK, what do you want?" Wilson asked.

"I'll have a steak with French fries, a coke and a strawberry pudding. I am feeling pretty down," House gave him a puppy face.

Wilson knew that there was more truth in that sentence than House wanted to admit. Instead, he played it as a joke and attempted to provoke some guilt in Wilson. However, the only thing he provoked was a deep sympathy; House was for once caring about something and it was making him human and vulnerable.

"And I would do that because?" Wilson returned the mocking.

"Cuz you are a big softy and you want to help your bestest buddy in these difficult times," House said in a ridiculous, sensitive voice.

"Lucky you." Wilson smiled absently and walked by his friend into the hospital cafeteria.


	11. Heart of Glass

Disclaimer - We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 9~

"I going to Calgary tomorrow," Wilson said carefully looking at House.

"Whoa, Jimmy," House spoke with his mouth full, chewing happily on his French fries, "I am afraid the qualifications for the Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth have been completed months ago."

"No, I am not going for the Calgary Stampede, House. I am attending a week long World Congress on Thyroid Cancer," Wilson calmly explained.

"A week? As in 7 days?" House finally caught on what Wilson was talking about.

"Yes, Wednesday to Wednesday. That's why I wanted to ask you…" Wilson tried to find the right words but House interrupted him.

"Ha! I knew there was something behind this. You wanted to make me all soft and mushy by feeding me before you executed your evil plan," House pointed at him with a French fry.

"That is not true. I only want to ask you for a favor, House," Wilson tried to calm the situation.

"And since when I am doing you favors?" House said with a hint of menace.

"Well you might consider starting as of today," Wilson added timidly.

"What is it?" House asked stuffing his mouth again with a piece of meat and some potatoes.

"I want you to take care of Cuddy while I am in Calgary," Wilson said in one breath.

There was no change on House's face. Wilson's request did not really surprise him. When he swallowed his last piece House said, "I am already doing that, so it's hardly a favor."

"That is not what you had in mind. I want the rest of it, so spit!" House demanded.

Wilson attempted to speak with his mouth full and a small piece flew across the table.

House watched in amusement and simply added, "I didn't mean literally Jimmy!" A huge smile appeared on House's face and Wilson slightly blushed. "Come on, I don't have a whole day, what is it?" House asked again.

"Well, since she will have a PICC line inserted and, knowing Cuddy, she will likely demand to work. I thought you could have her stay at your place, to keep an eye on her. She only has us, House!" Wilson said and mentally shielded himself from the verbal attacks he was expecting from House. Instead, House plainly said, "OK."

Wilson looked at him in disbelief; eyes wide open. He put his silverware down and took a sip of ice tea he ordered earlier.

"Just OK? No protests; no insults? No name calling or insulting my ancestors?" Wilson spoke, still recovering from the verbal shock. He could not believe that House agreed to something without putting up a fight.

"No. You asked me for a favor and I said yes. I think that's how the favors usually work," House added childishly and took a sip of his Coke.

"Yes but no sarcastic comments or condescending remarks?" Wilson demanded.

"No. You asked me and said yes. Can't I do something nice?" House asked, with a fake pout.

"Give me a break. You never do anything nice, at least not without the hope of getting something in return," Wilson was on a defensive, "What's in it for you?"

"Apart from Cuddy's exquisite underwear, I am trying to help you for once," House said in a funny voice.

"Fine. If you want to play it that way, fine, just help her – please."

"I am not guaranteeing what will come out of it, but I'll do my best. Scout's honor!" House said mockingly and raised three fingers in scout's salute.

"Grow up!" Wilson said and got up, clearing his side of the table. House soon followed. When they exited the cafeteria, Wilson headed for the main exit.

House stopped him, "Where do you think you are going?"

"House, I am not going on a last-minute vacation deal. I am actually going to a serious medical conference, I need to prepare and pack, if you don't mind," Wilson said seriously.

"Fine, I hope you don't bring that attitude with you. I heard the Canuck chicks don't really dig snootiness," House said wiggling his nose. Then he added, "And yes, bring me a souvenir. I mean a real souvenir and not some chick's panties," House said with fake annoyance.

Wilson rolled his eyes and left, leaving House standing alone in the PPTH lobby. For a second he thought what to do and decided to pay Cuddy a visit. He slowly limped to her room.

House stopped in front of Cuddy's room and looked through the glass. She could not see him since her head was bent down and she was scribbling something into her big red book. Obviously, she felt better; that gave him a lot of hope. A man who though that hope was for sissies suddenly found himself clutching to it as if his life depended on it. In a sense, his life _did_ depend on it. For a second he was unsure whether to go in or not when the head cardiology nurse approached him. That jumpstarted him and they walked in together. Cuddy looked up and gave them both a smile.

"Dr. House, it says here you ordered a PICC line to be inserted tomorrow morning," the nurse looked down at her paperwork and demanded an answer.

"House, a PICC line? Is it really necessary?" Cuddy demanded an answer raising her eyebrow.

"What's with everyone today? Of course it is necessary. Cuddy, you've lost 20% of your pre-pregnancy weight. We need to feed you somehow!" He said, hiding his concern behind his medical profession.

"No more chicken?" she said cutely.

"I am afraid not," he gave her a half-smile.

"Dr. House, should we use her left arm to give her more mobility?" the nurse was writing the instructions for the morning shift.

"No!" House and Cuddy said in unison and House continued,

"Dr. Cuddy is a lefty and she needs her _left_ hand for mobility.

"So you want me to use her right, correct?" she was trying to cover all grounds.

"Yeah genius unless she has a third hand that I don't know of," House said sarcastically and literally drove the nurse out.

"House, she was only trying to be methodical and avoid any possible mistakes. Everyone knows how much you hate mistakes!" Cuddy said apologetically signaling to him that she wanted him to sit next to her.

He approached slowly and rested his cane across her bed. Then in two simple moves, he sat next to her left side. She closed her big red book, leaving the pen inside, and put it away on the nightstand. He noticed it was her diary. For a second that spiked his attention and awoke his curiosity but quickly he shifted his gaze to her face. Still pale and visibly exhausted but with a spark back in her beautiful, blue eyes.

"How are you feeling today?" he simply asked.

His concern touched her deeply. She looked away and focused her gaze on the white blinds protecting the room from curious eyes.

She barely whispered, "I am fine, I think. Of course scared and worried, but generally I think I feel fine"

"Why are you scared and worried?" he asked hoping she would share her fears with him.

"I am scared for this child," she lightly patted her stomach, "and I am worried that I won't be able to do my job and the work has been piling up, I assume," she honestly articulated her words.

"Assumption is the mother of all screw-ups my dear Dean of Medicine," he said mockingly, "However, your ass has been covered, at least professionally," he gave her a significant look and added a sexual innuendo without any shame.

"House!" she screamed a fake protest.

"Don't worry Cuddy! Wilson has graciously stepped in," then he paused for a second and continued when he got Cuddy's attention, "and when I say graciously I mean like a stampede bull in a china store." Cuddy let a giggle out and that gave House courage to proceed, "And since he is going to Calgary tomorrow, the Board will hire a temp while you are out."

"They are replacing me completely?" Cuddy asked in shock already aware of the fact that Wilson was going to a medical conference.

"No. You and the temp will each work half a day given that you feel better," he explained

"But…" she protested.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow, when we know more. Now you need to rest!" he said authoritatively.

"House, what is wrong with me?" she suddenly remembered the reason she was in the hospital bed.

He lifted his eyes and realized how important this was for her. Without saying a word and even planning it, he extended his hand and closed it on hers. Then he looked at her lips, slightly pouting and slightly inviting him to kiss them. He shook off that thought and focused back on her question.

"We have excluded a lot of things. Right now, I am testing you for the Bartter and Gitelman syndromes, and leaning towards Bartter's since it explains more. However many things are still inconclusive Cuddy." House said honestly making sure not to upset her too much.

"Bartter's? But it usually occurs in infancy," Cuddy said knowledgeably.

"That's why I am testing for it first. For both the classic, and the neonatal Bartter's. If it's Gitelman's, we'll fix you," he added with a smile.

"And if it's Bartter's I'll give a birth to a cripple," she said bitterly. Only when the last word resonated in the room she realized what she had said. House had already withdrawn his hand. She reached for his hand and deeply sighed,

"I am sorry House! I didn't mean it that way," her blue eyes were pleading with him

"It's OK!" he said, closing himself back in.

"House..." his hand was slipping from hers as he was getting up.

"Cuddy, really! It's OK! I need to go anyway. I will see you in the morning," he plainly said with no emotions or promise and left her room, hurt in more ways than one.

She leaned back and slowly put her head on the pillow. She felt as if she had just broken something very precious between them. One tear stubbornly fought its way forward and she let it drop. _His heart is made of glass – sometimes bulletproof, other times porcelain – but glass nonetheless_, she thought to herself, and closed her eyes.


	12. Getting under the skin

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 10~

House reluctantly limped back to his office. His team was already awaiting him there with the latest lab results. However, he was not in the mood for a differential. He wanted to be alone. As he slowly walked, ignoring the pain in his leg, Cuddy's last sentence echoed in his mind. She _hurt_ him; after Stacy, he swore, nobody would ever hurt him again. Somehow, she still managed to get under his skin, no matter how much he tried to prevent it. He stopped in front of the elevators and let his thoughts wander. He knew the exact day she got under his skin and decided to stay – the day she walked into the PPTH knowing she was pregnant, completely radiant and glowing – wearing the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

The elevator stopped and he clutched his cane harder, looking at it while he limped in pain. Cuddy will always see him as a _cripple_, both a physical and an emotional one. In all honesty, who was he to negate that? He could never be the perfect man she deserved. Half way down the hallway, he searched his left pocket and pulled out a bottle of Vicodin. For a brief second he deliberated whether to take it or not but then, the misanthrope in him won, yet again.

He dry-swallowed two pills and demonstratively walked in the conference room.

"What are you still doing here?" He asked the ducklings harshly, "It's past your daycare time. Disappear!" He added and pointed with both of his hands towards the door.

Cameron opened her mouth to say something in protest but House was quicker.

"Go! Leave the results on the table," he said without patience as he leaned against his cane, waiting for them to do what he instructed.

"House…" Forman started to speak, holding the lab file up high for his attention.

"What, you forgot your listening ears in the lab?" House asked Forman, obviously annoyed.

The team, including Cameron, Chase and Foreman looked at each other in disbelief and shook their heads. House was literally kicking them out and forcing them to go home.

One after the other, forming a perfect line, they dropped their files on the table and left the conference room.

Outside, in the hallway, Kutner asked first, "What was that all about?"

House yelled from inside the conference room, placing one hand behind his left ear, "I can still hear you!"

He pointed to the glass window mockingly and added, "Go find someone else to annoy."

He limped over to the glass table, picked up all the blue files, and headed towards his office alone. He sent his team home, after all.

Once in his office, House threw all the files on his table and quickly picked up the phone. He impulsively dialed the number of Cardiology but then decided against it. He stared blankly at the phone in a daze, and when it rang, he almost jumped from his seat. He looked at the time on his computer, 5:42p. He looked down, and after two more rings, he answered dryly, "Someone better be dying."

"House, are you OK?" asked a worried Wilson from the other side.

"Why wouldn't I be?" House retorted with no particular interest.

"Maybe because you just sent your entire team home without doing the differential on Cuddy? I find it very odd," Wilson told him with his words laced with concern.

"I find your taste in women odd and I never ask you if you are OK cuz it's pointless," House deflected with a deliberate menace in his voice.

"Yet another attempt at mature conversation," Wilson muttered, and breathed deeply so that he would not lose his temper.

"What do you want?" House finally asked him.

"I want to know what's been eating you all this time. What you have been attempting to tell me lately but never found the words…" Wilson said honestly.

House kept silent for a while. At one point Wilson was not even sure if House was still on the line, because he did not hear a sound from the other end of the call. He checked to see if the call had ended without him knowing, and placed the phone back to his ear.

"House!" He called into the speaker.

That seemed to have gotten House's attention and he fidgeted in his chair before asking, "When are you leaving tomorrow?"

"Around noon; why?" Wilson said frankly puzzled.

"Wanna come over tonight?" House blurted without too much thinking.

Wilson was speechless. House was actually inviting him over. _This must be big_, he thought to himself. House's joke brought him back, "No gay strippers though!"

Wilson chucked but did not reply, instead, he asked, "Is nine OK? I can bring some food if you want," Wilson added politely, making sure House did not change his mind.

"Fine, don't forget the scotch," House said using few words as possible and hung up. Then he quickly grabbed Cuddy's lab results even though he already knew he'd find nothing relevant. He knew his team all too well.

**Renin and Aldosterone levels – **normal

**Serum panel** – clean

**Comprehensive metabolic panel** – clean

**Complete thyroid panel** - clean

**Amniotic fluid level** - NORMAL

He tossed the files back on his desk and he slowly got up. He slowly grabbed his cane and jacket, a mixture of sadness and joy etched on his face.

"You will not give birth to a cripple, Cuddy. That miserable role is reserved for me," He mumbled to himself before leaving his office.

A/N – sorry this chapter is so short! It is kinda like a 'filler' for the bigger stuff yet to come :)


	13. Cuddy's Serenade

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 11~ Cuddy's Serenade

At 9:15pm, Wilson walked into House's apartment. He did not bother ringing or knocking because he knew House was expecting him. Knowing House, he would never get up for anyone, so leaving the door unlocked was his way of showing hospitality. Some things about House, and _only_ some, were extremely predictable.

He was playing a melancholic tune on his baby grand. Even when Wilson slowly walked in, House didn't bother to acknowledge his presence. Only when he gently stroked the last key, totally wrapped up in the sound, and finished his last sip of scotch, he looked up. "You're late!" He announced lazily.

"And you are already drunk. Nice job, House!" Wilson noticed trying to find some space on the messy table to put down the pizza and the booze he brought over.

"Great observation! Let's explore that further!" House said mockingly and slowly got up. He limped over to the table, dragging his right leg behind, and searched the bags until he found what he was looking for. He unscrewed the scotch bottle and filled his glass. "Care to join me my dear Wilson?" he asked with a dose of emptiness and collapsed on the couch.

Wilson walked over to him and snatched the glass from his hand knowing full well that his friend was incapable of jumping to his feet to fight for it. House, lacking reflexes due to moderate intoxication, was dumfounded. He only managed a small protest, "First you were late and now you are evil."

"So sue me," Wilson replied jokingly.

"You took advantage of the fact that I am a cripple and that I cannot run after you," House said and pointed to the glass in Wilson's hand. "I want that back," He whined like a child.

"And you will get it back after you eat, House!" Wilson said sternly, "When was the last time you ate?"

House didn't reply. He just blankly stared, not really focusing on anything.

"House!" Wilson demanded his attention, still standing above him.

"I don't know. Yesterday I think," he replied plainly.

"You think?" Wilson asked in shock.

"Yeah. I don't know. I don't care. Give me the damn glass, Wilson!" House demanded, raising his voice even though he knew he was at a disadvantage.

Wilson left the glass, along with the opened bottle, on one of the bookshelves and sat on the couch, next to House. He opened the pizza box and offered a piece to his friend.

"Eat!" he ordered and nudged him with his right elbow.

House reluctantly took a piece and brought it to his mouth. The aroma of the freshly baked pizza suddenly awakened his appetite and he began eating hungrily. Wilson smiled as he watched House empty the box, to the last crumb.

"See, that was easy!" He said jokingly to House.

"That's beside the point," House argued as he glared up from his piece of pepperoni pizza.

"Sorry, I missed that! What was the point again?" Wilson asked sarcastically.

House grunted something under his breath and leaned over the couch to get his cane. He slowly got up, and as he was walking by his friend, he smacked him with his cane. Wilson grabbed his tibia and let out a small cry,

"You can be a real jerk sometimes, you know that?" He said through clenched teeth, still rubbing the sore spot on his right leg.

"Yeah, and you're the good guy." House mockingly replied.

"At least I try," Wilson mumbled as he stretched his leg out and rubbed it some more.

"I give you permission to stop trying, at least tonight." House said and collected his drink from the bookshelf.

"Grab a drink, Jimmy and let's go watch some TV. Wanna watch monster trucks or porn?" He turned to walk back to the couch.

"House!" Wilson demonstratively got up, mocking a surprise. However, he was not surprised because he knew House's deflecting tactics.

"Oh, right! Porn would be awkward," House said as he nodded his head in understanding.

"You invited me here tonight to talk, House! So talk or I am leaving. I am not going to get drunk with you or watch monster trucks since I have better things to do. But I will listen, if you need me to," Wilson said in one breath afraid that House could interrupt him.

Instead of walking back to the couch, House changed his mind and walked back to his baby grand. Without responding to Wilson he started playing a melody Wilson never heard him play before.

_Cuddy's Serenade. House composed it 3 nights ago and drank himself to oblivion. That's when he called Wilson at 3:00am. _

Wilson grabbed his coat and headed for the door. Before exiting, he bitterly said, "You will lie, cheat and steal to get what you want, but you're incapable of entrusting me with your problems?"

"Well, we all have our limitations," House said cynically and abruptly stopped playing mid-song. Wilson was already half way out the door when he heard House yell after him, "She hurt me!"

Wilson slowly retraced his steps backwards and turned to House, raising one eyebrow. He pushed the door with his back and asked with great interest, "She hurt you?"

"Yeah. If you're going to repeat everything I say, this conversation's going to take twice as long and you have _better_ things to do!" House said angrily as he turned sideways to get a better view of Wilson.

"Fine. I assume this is about Cuddy. What did she do?" Wilson gently approached the subject.

House took a big gulp of his scotch and gently stroked several keys on his piano before saying, "She said that if she had the Bartter's syndrome she would give birth to a cripple," House confessed, remembering Cuddy's words clearly.

"And you got all upset because you would be getting competition? You wouldn't be her favorite cripple?" Wilson tried to put some sense into him. He knew that House tended to sulk like a five-year-old when he did not get what he wanted.

House reached the traditional Hebrew-sounding stanza of his composition and slammed hard on the black and white keys with all his fingers creating unpleasant dissonance. Wilson jumped in surprise and looked over at House.

House buried his head in his hands and tightly gripped his fingers around his temples. When he finally looked at Wilson, cutting the silence with his gaze, a tide of pain washed in his eyes, "Cuddy's carrying my child."

Wilson opened his mouth to say something but words were not coming. He was unable to verbalize his paralyzing shock. He took three deep breaths and reached for House's drink.

"You slept with Cuddy?" He asked hesitantly.

House silently shook his head and focused his gaze on Wilson's shoes. At that moment Gregory House was prepared to do anything to get out of his own skin and let someone else take the burden of confession; even sell his soul to the Devil himself although he felt he had already done that.

Wilson was confused. He gulped the remaining scotch and finally said, "Wait! Hold on!"

He raised both of his hands in the air trying to understand what his friend was saying, "What do you mean?"

House let Wilson think for a second while he collected his own thoughts. He slowly got up and walked over to the bookshelf to collect the Scotch bottle. Without too much consideration he gulped out of it, too lazy to look for a glass, and limped back to his seat. Wilson's eyes followed him frantically until their eyes met at last. Accepting the fact that he finally had some attention from his friend he hysterically asked, "House, you didn't? Please tell me you didn't do what I think you did."

"I switched the IVF samples," House finally confessed in a voice that was hinting panic as he started pacing the room, leaning heavily on his wooden cane.

"Oh my God!" Wilson covered his mouth, finally realizing the consequences of his friend's confession.

"She doesn't know, does she?" He asked with his eyes wide with fear.

"Nope," House said simply and shook his head while tightly gripping the scotch bottle with his left hand.

"Why on earth would you do that? You don't want kids, you never have!" Wilson was shaking from this realization while House silently poured more and more scotch into his system.

Wilson repeated his original question, "Why, House?"

House lowered the bottle onto his precious baby grand and sighed, deeply disappointed in himself.

"I was bored" he paused trying to put a coherent sentence together "and I wanted to see if I could do it and get away with it!" He stopped again to take another deep breath.

"I never thought it would succeed, damn it! All others have failed!" He honestly admitted still looking at the tips of Wilson's shoes. This was evidently taking a huge emotional toll on him.

"_When_ are you planning to tell her?" Wilson demanded.

"I don't know," He mumbled inarticulately, not knowing the answer to Wilson's question.

"House…"

"I don't know, OK? I have tried, many times. I just don't know," He said as he buried his head in his hands in defeat, letting the cane drop onto the floor with a loud thud.

Wilson walked over to House and affectionately put his right arm around his shoulder. Then he reached for the empty glass and poured some more alcohol, for both of them. If this was the night he'll let his breaks loose, so be it. Desperate times required desperate measures. His friend needed him. Finally he asked him, "You know you are a dead man, House?"

"Yeah. I know!" He practically yelled. House pulled two Vicodin out and washed them down with scotch wishing that tomorrow would never come.

* * *

A/N Cuddy doesn't have Rachel in this fic but we are borrowing some things from Season 5. You can find Cuddy's Serenade, in mp3, on MissCuddles' profile! :)


	14. Primal Claim

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 12~

Although an alcohol-induced sleep kept him from having a restless night, House's head started pounding with the first rays of sun. He wasn't sure what it was, the sounds coming from his bathroom, the invading smell of freshly brewed coffee or the annoying sun plaguing the privacy of his room through the outdated blinds on his windows. He had no idea what time it was, but he was damn sure it was way too early for him to get up.

"Damn! I am screwed!" he grunted and covered his head with a pillow remembering the night before. Although he felt relieved that he shared his secret with his best friend and got that burden off of his shoulders, he was painfully aware of Wilson's righteousness. House and morality didn't go well together even though they lived in a necessary cohabitation when needed. House compared morality to a sexual relationship that didn't require commitment or explanation; he simply acted upon it at his own free will and when it best suited his interests. For Wilson, however, it was a constant and a true North that steered human lives. And, _that_ true North was about to demand some actions from him; actions that he was too scared to take.

House rolled onto the left side of his bed and helped his right leg touch the floor. With two swift motions he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair and yawned tiredly. Alcohol was still evaporating from his pores and both his leg and his head were killing him mercilessly.

When he heard the water stop in the bathroom, he called out, "Jimmy, get out! I need to use the bathroom"

Wilson appeared in the doorway and cheerfully said, "Good, you are awake."

"Yes, I am awake but not at my own will. Your beautification rituals are causing me sleep deprivation," he said grumpily and sized him up, from head to toe, "Are you going to a conference or a gay parade?"

"My flight is in five hours," Wilson informed House as he looked at his watch, "and I still have a lot of things to do before I take off. I need to stop by the hospital, check on Cuddy and get my luggage. But before all of that, we need to talk," Wilson explained while crossing his arms at his chest. He noticed how House cringed at the mention of Cuddy's name.

House stood up and slowly attempted to walk past his friend. When Wilson refused to budge, House elbowed him and yelled, "Move! I need to use the bathroom and shower!"

"We need to talk, House!" Wilson calmly repeated.

"I heard you. Now move!" House shoved his unshaven and tired-looking face into Wilson's and stormed past him. Wilson quickly picked up the underlying message and spoke through the closed bathroom door, "I'll be in the kitchen. I made you some coffee"

House never explicitly agreed to anything. It took years and years of turbulent friendship for Wilson to be able to pick up and understand small nuances from House's voice or body language.

_House will talk but under his own conditions and when he is ready. Wilson will be waiting_.

15 minutes later House limped in the kitchen, groomed and refreshed, but still unable to look at Wilson straight in the eye. Wilson broke the ice by extending him a cup of freshly brewed coffee, which House gladly accepted.

"House, you will have to face reality, sooner rather than later" Wilson carefully opened up the conversation and took a sip of coffee, sympathetically looking at his best friend.

"I know" House sighed and leaned on the counter, still holding his coffee cup. Finally, he raised his eyes to Wilson and brokenly said, "She will hate me!"

"She will probably fire your ass but she will never hate you, House! You gave her the greatest gift of all!" Wilson quickly comforted him and then elaborated the truth that was lingering in the air but House had no courage of admitting,

"And since you only worry about her hating you and not about your job that can only mean one thing: _You care about her_ and not only as a future mother of your child but as a woman."

House did not deny it. Instead, he twirled a spoon in his hand like a guilty five-year-old that had just been caught with his hands in a cookie jar.

"If I have ever had any brownie points with her, I've lost them now," House said in a vocabulary that perfectly matched his guilt and looked at Wilson for comfort.

"You don't know that before you talk to her."

"I can't…" House started but Wilson quickly interrupted him.

"Do you want this child, House?" He locked his eyes with House's and directly demanded an answer.

House gently nodded, guiltily pursing his lips.

"Was that a _yes_?" Wilson asked, tilting his head and raising one eyebrow.

Again, House nodded, this time a notch harder than before. Verbalizing an answer to Wilson's question was harder than enduring a medieval torture, no matter how cruel.

"OK. So that's definitely a _yes_." Wilson sincerely smiled at him, "I never thought I'd live to witness this," he finally added with a satisfied grin

"You can stop gloating. It makes your face wrinkle!" House said mockingly and poured more coffee into his cup.

"Anyway, so much to do, so little time", Wilson raised his right index finger, thinking this through, "First you need to tell her. Use this time you opportunely chose to warm her up to the idea of having a child together," Wilson said referring to House's acceptance of having Cuddy stay with him. "That will give you approximately 5 months to prepare for the blessed event," Wilson continued cheerfully and finally concluded, "and about the same amount of time to stop being a jerk!"

"You think I'd be a jerk to my own child," House asked, surprised by Wilson's choice of words and remembering the promise to his _own_ father that he would never be like him.

"Not necessarily to your child, but to its mother for sure. You understand they come in a package now?" Wilson reminded him, once more, that this was not a game anymore. Preaching responsibility to House was like teaching an old dog, new tricks.

"Yeah, I know," House humbly replied.

Wilson looked at his watch and hastily announced, "I gotta get going, it's already 8:15," then he walked over to House and placed a hand on his right shoulder, "House, are you gonna be OK?" Wilson asked kindheartedly.

"I think so," House simply replied and lowered his gaze.

"I don't doubt that you will call me at any hour that suits you but I will say it anyway." Wilson twirled his cell phone in his other hand, "Call me if you need me, OK?"

"OK." House dryly agreed.

Wilson quickly collected his coat and walked out of the kitchen. House, still in his pajama and holding tightly onto his coffee cup, limped slowly after him. In silence he watched his friend head for the main door. House raised his coffee cup to his lips, still determined to suck some life out of the remaining caffeine, when Wilson suddenly stopped in the door and turned around,

"You didn't do it because you were bored or you needed a silly prank. You did it because you couldn't have it any other way but yours and you wanted it _all_. That primal claim you placed on her, your woman, never really ceased to exit, did it?" Wilson said in one breath and quickly ordered before he closed the door, "Go talk to her!"

House stared at the closed door wishing that, at that moment, he had Wilson's disarming courage and patience. After a long mental debate, he quickly got dressed and headed towards the PPTH. After all, he did promise Cuddy he was going to visit her this morning!


	15. Queen of Sheba

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 13~

Cuddy was watching carefully while the attending nurse inserted the catheter into her right arm leading to a major blood vessel. She thought of House's behavior and how he demonstratively left her room last night, obviously hurt, but quickly rejected her thoughts. She will deal with him when she gets back on her feet. There were other priorities lined up; House's strange behavior wasn't one of them or, at least, she liked to believe so. She bluntly lied to herself because Gregory House and his newly developed concern kept bugging her beyond reason. She looked up when the nurse said,

"There, all set Dr. Cuddy. TPN is just a supplement, you should try to eat normally as much as you can," a motherly look appeared on nurse's face as she gently placed her hand on Cuddy's shoulder.

"I know, thank you," said Cuddy gracefully and lowered her gown sleeve over her upper arm.

"You will need to stay in the maternity ward for the specific care since you live alone," nurse quickly pointed out, aware of the fact that the PICC line required constant care and careful handling.

"I can't do that, I have a job to do, this hospital is behind as is, there is no way I can spend one more day in bed. I need to get back to work," Cuddy protested putting on her bossy voice and started getting up from her bed. When her feet touched the cold floor she victoriously announced, "I need to get dressed!"

"You are not going anywhere!" House limped in and blocked her way with his cane. "At least not with _that _attitude," he raised his cane and pointed at her. Cuddy looked at him in disbelief, her mouth halfway open. "You are staying in this morning for your treatment," his voice couldn't tolerate further discussion.

"But House…" Cuddy sounded like a 7-year-old begging her parents to go to a sleepover party.

"You have the largest one in this hospital, by far, and it's on the line," he painted his words with some humor. "The only _butt_ I am considering right now is yours, back in that bed!" he joked with a devilish grin appearing on his face.

"I need to work House. This hospital needs me!" she said in firm, demanding voice.

"Your _body,_" he looked down at her stomach unable to verbalize the truth, "needs you more! You can't have it all, Cuddy." House wanted to scream, to protest, to plead and reason with her but all his courage abandoned him when he looked into her eyes. They were so blue and so vulnerable. All of a sudden, he felt responsible for the pain radiating from her delicate body.

"Are you saying that I can't take care of myself and my child?" she said brokenly.

_My child, too, _his mind screamed but quickly corrected itself._ I want to take care of you and __**our**__ child;_ he snugly wrapped his mind around this idea and unintentionally raised his voice.

"Jesus Cuddy, you can't take care of yourself, not like this," he said harshly, referring to her impulsiveness to get out of bed and his own secret wishes, "and we can't have a nurse following you around 24/7," he added more gently. She had no way of knowing that he was verbalizing, out of his every pore, a newly-found fear and _not_ criticizing her.

"Oh, why do you have to make everything so dramatic? I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, House!" she lovingly patted her stomach.

House slowly approached her bed, keeping his gaze locked on her hands, and slid a medical proxy file under her nose. Then he asked,

"Is this your signature, Dr. Cuddy?"

"Yes, but…" she defiantly protested.

"I am your doctor," House was gloating, "and I believe that was _your _choice!" He rubbed that fact in, both victoriously and jokingly at the same time.

"I am still your boss," she attempted to put on her best professional look, secretly smiling under her façade.

"Feisty! And so early in the morning! Such a turn on!" He spontaneously smiled, deliberately mixing it with a mocking grimace.

"House!" she protested, offering him a beautiful, charming smile in return.

"Cuddy!" he replied in the same tone to her and locked his eyes with hers, attempting to tell her the truth with his gaze. Cuddy sensed a turbulent change in him and relaxed her facial muscles, in anticipation. Finally words rolled off of his tongue and his said,

"You are my patient and until I sign the discharge papers, that will remain the case," he said calmly, hinting professionalism in his voice. "Now, rest!" he lightly ordered and turned to leave. Suddenly as if he forgot something he turned on his heel and faced her again,

"Oh, yes!" he raised his left index finger, leaning back on his cane, motioning to her that he remembered something important, "Tomorrow you are moving in with me!" He plainly said as if it was the most natural circumstance.

"What?" Cuddy's astonishment turned into a high-pitched voice, "No! House, no! I am not moving in with you! No way!"

"Way," he replied quickly, suddenly in the mood to argue with her.

"House, how…"

"I wasn't successful in convincing my team to take you. For some odd reason, they are scared of you! Well, Thirteen was willing but that would be _just_ odd!" He said sarcastically and pulled a piece paper out of his pocket, "You will spend your mornings in the maternity ward receiving the TPN treatment and resting," he searched her face for understanding and when he was sure she was following him, he continued. "After lunch you can go to your office and work half a day, given that I clear you. No prancing around the hospital!" He pointed to her shoes with his cane.

"Who will work the mornings?" she asked him, indicating that she listened to him carefully.

"This Aaron guy…" he handed he the piece he was holding and continued, "the Board hired him to cover all those tasks you can't physically do right now: external meetings, active supervision and travel. However, you will still be able to do what you are best at, give out orders and be mean, oh my Queen of Sheba!" He said mockingly and smiled at her. Then he quickly added, "After work we will leave together and I will monitor you and your feeding tube at home. Simple as that!" he said proudly.

"There is nothing simple in this arrangement House and you know it. Why are you doing this?" two vertical wrinkles appeared on her forehead as she demanded the answer.

"I cleverly have no personal life so it makes no difference. So it's either this or you kill off my brain cells with your whining. I picked the lesser evil," he said smugly.

Cuddy extended her hand and tugged him by his jacket. When he finally looked down at her, recovering from the original shock, she asked again,

"No. Why are you _really_ doing this?" She asked him with a pleading look in her eyes.

"I…" he opened his mouth to say something, debating whether to tell the truth or not. _She needs something heroic_, he thought to himself, _and not me saving my ass. _Instead of admitting, he said, "I promised Wilson."

"You never promise anything to anyone unless you hope to get something in return!" Cuddy argued knowing that something else was behind his decision.

"What are you two?" referring to her and Wilson, "Evil twins separated at birth plotting against me?" he asked rhetorically, hinting that the conversation about his motives was over and approached her IV stand to check if the TPN bag was secured properly. Cuddy knew Gregory House too well and this was the time to refrain from questioning so she shifted her attention elsewhere.

TPN looked like milk in an IV bag. It contained a complex mix of nutrition and vitamins specific to Cuddy's body. Both of them lifted their eyes and looked at the bag. Cuddy spoke first.

"It looks like sour milk," she said, his so-called motive still ringing in her ears.

"It smells like it too, ew!" House said with fake disgust, turning up his nose. "You know this is not a cure, Cuddy? It's just a band-aid," there was a shadow of concern across his face as he said it.

Cuddy was speechless. For a brief moment she stared at him, blue eyes locked in an emotional embrace, and then she slightly nodded in understanding. When he sat down next to her she pulled her sheets higher as if to protect herself from a sudden invasion of her privacy and her soul.

Both of them sat in silence, collecting their thoughts and emotions. Cuddy had an awkward feeling that House wanted to say more but he was unable to verbalize it. Instead she asked,

"House, what are you hiding?" she asked suspiciously.

"I am back on methadone!" he said entertainingly. She raised her eyebrows questioning his face. "Oh, that's not what you meant. It does explain a lot though. I am warm, fuzzy and caring!" he told her with sarcasm sipping out of his every word

"Right! Nice try!" She announced with a classic Cuddy-eye-roll.

"Oh, you caught me!" House said as he dramatically covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes 10 times larger.

"House, is there anything else you want to tell me?" Cuddy asked softly as she tried to unnoticeably, sneak into his soul.

He jumped to his feet as if she poked him with a needle. His cane slipped on the floor and hit the ground with a loud thud. With a painful grimace on his face he bent over to reach it and hissed through his teeth,

"No. Nothing." He mumbled in confusion, painfully aware that she was reading him like an open book, "I'll bring you lunch later," He said as he turned around and left with a painful limp.

She stared after him wondering what has been driving this man to be what he is and to pretend what he is not. He never cared, at least not enough to be a part of someone's life. But here he was, sharing his concern and hiding himself behind his professional call and behind Wilson. _Something has changed_. Something was wrong with her or with her baby and he was hiding it from her by being overprotective, she sensed it with her entire being.

"Damn you, House. You will tell me the truth if that's the last thing you'll do," she clenched her fists, trying to fight back tears in her eyes; tears that were threatening to fall for two diametrically opposite reasons: _happiness to finally have him in her life_ and _sorrow that her happiness would be short-lived_.

* * *

A/N – According to a Hebrew legend, the Queen of Sheba, an exotic and mysterious woman of power, came to Jerusalem and tested the wisdom and knowledge of King Solomon by preparing difficult riddles.


	16. Truck of Red Lollipops

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 14~ Truck of Red Lollipops

As House exited Cuddy's room, more running away from his feelings than anything else, he bumped into Wilson who was about to enter. Surprised to see him House spoke first,

"What are you still doing here?" House looked at his watch as he raised an eyebrow.

"Did you tell her?" Wilson eagerly asked ignoring House's question.

"Shhhhh you idiot," House suspiciously turned around making sure nobody heard them. "These walls have ears!" House lowered his voice and dragged Wilson aside by his jacket.

"So, that's a _no_, I presume," Wilson observantly concluded.

"No, I didn't tell her, you Nazi," House quickly said but then slowed down and almost gently added, "I tried. I wanted to."

"You obviously didn't try hard enough!" Wilson reproached him.

"She thinks I am plotting something against her!" House honestly admitted what he had deduced from Cuddy's wary grilling.

"You don't have to be a genius to see that. You have avoided her for almost 4 months and now, all of a sudden, you are all milk and honey. Of course, she is suspicious, House! She is an intelligent woman!"

"Yeah, and that's the scariest part! Sometimes I wish she wasn't so damn intelligent!" House said even though he knew it was a complete lie. If there was anything he liked about Cuddy, and would not trade it for a truck of red lollipops, it was her brain. Well, to be completely honest he liked her breasts as well.

"Well, my dear friend she wouldn't be carrying your child right now if she was anything less than Lisa Cuddy herself! The great Gregory House does not mix with the ordinary, common folk!" Wilson recited politely adding a spice of sarcasm before he turned around and headed towards Cuddy's room. House limped after him and tugged him by his sleeve,

"Where are you going?" He asked suspiciously as if Wilson was plotting a suicide bombing.

"I am going to see Lisa!" Wilson said plainly putting on a _what-a-stupid-question_ smirk.

"No you are not! She will read you like an open book and you will blab everything out," House said nervously and tugged him harder, as if to anchor him in his tracks, "and, besides, I need you to help me with something."

"I want to see how she's doing. She is my friend too, House!" Wilson argued as he gave House a pleading look.

"She is fine, still pregnant! Trust me, I am her doctor!" House said as he hurriedly pushed him in the opposite direction, "I will tell her you said _hi_!" House added innocently.

"House…" Wilson protested as House pushed him towards the cafeteria.

"This is more important!" House whispered as they approached the corner table and sat down, "I need your consult on something." He asked in a professional voice creating an illusion of a medical differential. Wilson, being a caring, morally straight individual, sat down quietly and awaited an oncology-related question.

"Should I get a new bed or a new couch?" he got to the point hastily looking anxiously at Wilson as if he had a readily available answer in his sleeve.

"You must be kidding me!" Wilson dejectedly announced, "You dragged me in here to help you pick furniture? That's just classy, House!" He annoyingly placed his palms on the table and started getting up.

"Sit down!" House blocked Wilson's way with the cane and added pleadingly, "Please!"

Wilson shook his head for a second and quickly sat down, amazed.

"Did you just say _please_?" he mocked him.

"Don't get too excited! Your blood pressure will rise," House said ironically, "And I am not picking just _any_ furniture," he gave him a quick _you-are-too-slow-for-a-doctor_ look and continued, "I told Cuddy that she is moving in with me tomorrow!" He announced and then childishly asked, "Where do you expect her to sleep?"

"If she said yes, God bless her heart, then I assume in your bed!" Wilson quickly fired back throwing the bait out. He raised his eyebrow in anticipation, secretly wishing House would take it.

"Yeah, yeah. Nice try, Wilson! Where will I sleep?" House asked more persuasively now.

"Oh, right!" Wilson innocently scratched his head while remembering his not-so-comfortable nights on House's couch. "Then just get a new, fold-out couch!" he quickly suggested.

"But what if she needs some help during the night or her feeding tube clots up while she sleeps? Isn't it smarter to squeeze another bed in there, just to be safe?" House attempted to reason, more with himself, than with Wilson actually.

"Wishful thinking, House! Do not even go there! She would only be safer from you in another state!"

"You think I would try to get into her…?" House slightly raised his voice but Wilson quickly slapped him on his hand. House cringed in disapproval.

"I don't think, House! I know! So get a pullout couch or one of those futon things, and make her feel welcome and comfortable. No monkey business!"

"Damn you, Jimmy! Do you always have to be my conscience?" House said faking regret.

"Don't be a wuss, talk to her!" Wilson reminded him with an encouraging smile.

"Right now the only person I need to talk to is your cleaning lady because mine doesn't speak a word of English and I still haven't mastered _what-ever-she-speaks_," House said urgently, realizing that Wilson was running out of time. Without too much thinking, he added, "I don't have a plan worked out or anything, I just know that the apartment needs to be cleaned by tomorrow afternoon; that I need some clean sheets and towels and a new couch. You have to give me some credit, dude!"

Wilson looked at House sympathetically and smiled. He liked this new House, a little bit unsure of himself and a little bit lost. His unreasonable cockiness was wearing out and Lisa Cuddy was to be thanked for it. He searched his pockets quickly and pulled out his cell phone,

"I will call Jeanine and ask her to help you out today!" Wilson told him as he searched his phone book for Jeanine's number "What exactly do you need?" he asked as he brought the phone to his ear

_Everything_, House's mind screamed but he quickly organized his thoughts.

"A set of bathroom towels, a king size bed set - including a down comforter - and two new feather pillows. And some general apartment cleaning tomorrow morning," House quickly recited his household needs. Wilson cocked his eyebrow at House's last sentence and House quickly corrected himself,

"Fine. Complete cleaning!"

"What colors do you prefer?" Wilson asked as Jeanine was taking notes on the other line.

"What? I do not know. Something girly, I guess!" House replied as if Wilson hypnotized him with the last question, "No pink, though!" he shrieked in disgust.

"I assume you will need to stock up on food, too?" Wilson knowledgeably asked, "Do you want Jeanine to run that errand for you?"

"Yeah! Good point!" House replied after he quickly mulled over that thought, "Have her come over tonight to pick up the key. She can shop and clean tomorrow morning!" he quickly reminded Wilson and sat back.

Wilson had a natural gift for sweet-talking people into doing things for him. It did not matter what class they were from or what kind of jobs they did; rich heirs, doctors, nurses, or housekeepers – he had a charming and unique approach for all of them. That was the kind of refinement and social gravity that Dr. Gregory House was systematically lacking.

"Jeanine will get all those things you asked plus a set of bathrobes and some bathroom cosmetics. You surely live like a Spartan, House!" Wilson emphasized, genuinely amused by House's dumbfound expression, "And all of this is on me, _dude_!" he said as he imitated House and let out an honest, heartfelt laugh.

"You take a perverse pleasure in mocking me?" House pouted, drawing a fake wounded expression on his face.

"Yup, but I have to go, or I'll miss my plane! You kids have fun!" Wilson said as he started to stand up.

"Wait, where do I go to buy a new couch?" House asked desperately as he glared at his friend.

"Try _Crate&Barrel_!" Wilson offered as he stepped back and pushed his chair in.

"Where is that?" House asked.

"Do you use internet for anything else than porn?" He asked with a laugh.

"No. Duh!" House defended himself as he pulled a face.

"Then, I guess, today you will. See you next Wednesday!" Wilson said before he disappeared down the busy hallway.


	17. Endorphin

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 15~

Thursday afternoon~

House wandered the halls of the Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital under the pretense of walking off his pain. His agony and excitement, in a perfect unison, drove him to finish all his clinic hours before the schedule and even start catching up on some paperwork because he didn't know what to do with himself. His mind was on fire. He glanced at his watch only to notice that merely 3 minutes had passed. He still had another 20 minutes before taking Cuddy home. _His home_. _His bed_. _Not in that way, you moron_! he criticized himself and quickly shook off the inappropriate thoughts. Then an idea materialized in his head and he excitedly limped to Cuddy's office.

Cuddy's first half day at work went calmly and to her surprise, uneventfully. Even though she craved excitement deep down, she knew this arrangement was for her own good. The new guy, Aaron, seemed nice enough and professionally capable so she only, for most of the day, sorted out and signed the paperwork and made some calls. She even made two quick rounds around the nurses' stations in the hospital, without House seeing her, and she was very pleased how everything had been running smoothly. House, however, was a different story.

She didn't have a reason to page him so she sat tightly in her office awaiting his drama-queen appearance. But he didn't come to visit her today, not once. She heard from the maternity ward nurses that he meticulously checked her medical file, on the clock, but never personally asked about her or her whereabouts. She looked at the computer clock and instantly decided. _I still have about 20 minutes, I can make the ER round before he gets here_, she thought to herself as she filed away her paperwork and cleaned the table. She quickly got up, straightened her PICC line and fixed the invisible lines on her skirt, and hurriedly walked out afraid of having second thoughts or having guilt take over her.

Seconds later House limped into her office only not to find her there. He pivoted on his heel several times and looked around taken aback but in vain; she was not in her office. House turned to leave, more amused by her disobedience than angry, when his pager went off. It was Cameron. He quickly limped back to Cuddy's desk and anxiously dialed Cameron's number, his gut telling him that something was wrong with Cuddy.

Cameron immediately recognized the number on her caller ID and intuitively deduced it was House. Without giving him a chance to speak first, she said carefully,

"House, Cuddy had another episode of fainting! She is fine now but I thought you should know."

"What happened?" House calmly said pushing concern in the back of his mind.

"I think, honestly, she overworked herself today having spent the last three and a half days in bed. She jumped back into the routine too quickly, in my opinion!" Cameron offered a morally-convincing explanation, surprised by House's composed behavior.

Still standing in front of Cuddy's desk, mentally noting how organized it was, House looked at his watch and absently said,

"I'll be right down!" and hung up the phone.

* * *

House walked into the ER calmly, almost amused. A sarcastic smile was lightly dancing on his face. He found Cuddy comfortably sprawled on one of the ER beds, her bossy outfit in tact, receiving a dose of IV.

"How many rounds did you make today?" He asked pulling a strict face. House had no intention of criticizing her; however, he wanted to know what had made her push his limits.

"One," She lied sheepishly. When she saw House's _try-that-again_ look she corrected herself.

"OK, three rounds. Happy now?" Cuddy nervously said feeling a little bit trapped by his questioning gaze.

"Why?" House demanded an answer, determined to get the truth out of her.

"Why what?" Cuddy lowered her eyes and started playing with her bracelet.

"Playing dumb just doesn't suit you, Cuddy!" House leaned heavily on his left leg, freeing his right hand and his cane. Without a prior announcement, he lifted his cane and taped on the metal bed frame with it, instantly gaining Cuddy's attention.

"Why did you do the rounds when there is the Aaron guy and when I explicitly told you no prancing around the hospital?" and then he locked his eyes on hers; blue on blue.

"I…" she stuttered unable to break the visual exchange he imposed, "I was just doing my job!" She managed to say, determined not to tell him the truth that she actually missed his attention. _I will not stroke your ego, Gregory House_! she thought to herself and defiantly focused harder on his eyes, tilting her chin slightly outwards.

"I know that most women, including those at ease with problems of the greatest complexity..." House paused to measure Cuddy from head to toe, briefly stopping at her calves.

"... can seldom accept even the simplest and most obvious truth if it be such as would oblige them to admit the falsity of conclusions which they have delighted in explaining to colleagues or subordinates, which they have proudly taught to others, and which they have woven, thread by thread, into the fabric of their lives," He continued mock-thoughtfully.

"So now you know!" she said cockily and sat up straight in her bed, allowing her legs to flirtatiously, swing off the side.

"Know what?" he quickly asked, unsure at what she was getting at. His gaze unintentionally shifted from her legs to her lips. He wished he could kiss that smug expression off of her face. Oh how she turned him on when she was full of herself.

"How it feels when you undermine my authority!" Cuddy uttered complacently with a devilish glow.

"It's not the same!" House openly defended himself, glad that Cuddy was her old self.

"Oooh yes it is. As my doctor it still makes you responsible! You can delegate authority, but not responsibility, House!" Cuddy firmly said, not budging an inch.

"You are just plain stubborn, woman!" he raised his voice to make his point.

"Maybe, but that doesn't make you less responsible!" she reasoned back and collected her stance before checking her PICC lumens; the TPN was capped since her next feeding cycle wasn't until 8:00p and the IV drip one was firmly secured.

"Oh, shut up! You don't get harmony when everybody sings the same note!" House verbalized his fake annoyance and placed a lot of pride in his musical metaphor, simultaneously observing her every move.

"I don't see how that relates to responsibility. Anyway, I try not to break your rules next time, but merely test their elasticity!" She offered him a gorgeous smile, her eyes sparkling more intensely than ever. House slightly trembled.

"Is that a threat, Dr. Cuddy?" he asked with unhidden curiosity.

"No, just a challenge, Dr. House!" she replied in the same tone, coloring her words with a purr. She was shamelessly flirting with him.

"Interesting…In that case, I accept! Now give me your house and car keys!" He quickly deflected as the magnetism of this conversation threatened to draw him in. After all, he was way too susceptible to her charms.

"What?" she felt confused from a sudden change of subject and asked, in confusion, "Why?"

"So I can throw a wild frat party!" he said sarcastically pulling on a silly face. When she raised her eyebrow in question, he added, "To go get some of your things for tonight, why else? I'd hate to break in when you are not there! Where is the fun in that?" his eyes were wide in expectation of her answer.

"Right!" she said plainly wondering what House's next scheme would be

"And since you've been a _bad_ girl today, you have to finish your IV drip," he eyed her saline fluids, before jokingly adding, "to the last drop!"

Finally he extended his long fingers and grabbed the keys that she was half-reluctantly offering. Before he finally took them, she slightly tugged back and said,

"Don't you dare going through my underwear!" she warned him as she propelled her body forward a little.

"But moooooooom!" House childishly protested, thrusting his lower lip out.

"House!" Cuddy gave him a reprimanding look.

"Fine! House turned on his heel to leave but demonstratively shouted over his left shoulder, "I have a nasty feeling that the phrase _weaker sex_ was coined by some woman to disarm some man she was preparing to overwhelm! I'll be back in 30 minutes, don't go anywhere!"

"I wasn't planning to!" Cuddy innocently replied and smiled to herself as she watched him leave. Even if it was for a brief second, everything made sense. She instantly grabbed her diary from her purse and quickly began scribbling, holding onto the endorphin rush House caused. She unconsciously bit her lower lip and wrote in:_ I am going home!_

Meanwhile, House limped out through the main door, mentally noting the items he needed to collect. _How fickle is woman_! he thought to himself, a smile widening on his face with each step.


	18. House Rules

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 16~

Thursday evening~

A little after 6:00p House and Cuddy walked into his apartment. He gallantly carried her stuff from the car and she returned the favor by bringing in his backpack so he would not have to walk twice. At the door he jokingly said,

"House rules are on the refrigerator! No pun intended, _roomie_!" House emphasized the last word

Cuddy smiled at his remark and slowly walked into the living room. She quickly noticed, while placing his backpack on the table, all the changes since she'd last been there; everything was obviously cleaned and aired, there was no dust and his signature Scotch and Vicodin bottles miraculously disappeared. It seemed as if someone breathed a large dose of life into his living room and that made her exceptionally happy. She walked over to the couch, House's gaze still following her, and pressed her palms against the soft fabric.

"You got a new couch?" she asked carefully measuring the new piece of furniture with her eyes. It was a big, comfy, chocolate brown couch with three back-support pillows and two huge side pillows, all made of soft microfiber.

"Yeah, I couldn't stand Wilson's whining anymore. Every time he'd crash drunk at my place he'd spent the next day complaining how uncomfortable it was! The couch, not the drinking!" he blatantly lied knowing well that Cuddy wouldn't believe him for a second.

"And you felt an urge to do something for the benefit of others?" she said in a ridiculously caring and mocking voice.

"What can I say? I am a big softy!" he fired back in the same fashion.

"I assume this is where I'll be sleeping." Cuddy quickly changed the subject

"For someone so smart you make hell of a lot wrong assumptions, Cuddy!"

"Was that a compliment?" she asked

"No. That was an observation! Compliments are overrated!" he shifted the weight from his right to his left leg and stated "You will sleep over there" he pointed to his room with his cane and added "I put the TPN stand on the right side of the bed along with a small refrigerator with the TPN and IV fluids, for your night cycle."

When she did not say anything, he asked, "Do you want me to administer them?"

She shook her head and softly said, "There is no need for you to get up at 4:00a. I can do it!"

"OK!" he said with a light nod.

An awkward silence fell between them. He leaned heavily on his cane and observed the woman standing in front of him. Her face was tired but not as hollow as it used to be and the spark was back in her eyes, which, to him, was a good sign; her brown curls were a little messy and disobedient around her temples but he found it rather charming. It gave her a natural, softer look – a complete opposite from her hospital edition. And her lips, which she from time to time unintentionally bit, regained their fullness and color and were sinfully inviting him over.

She studied him as well. A man of many masks and only one true face. His blue eyes were studying her in silence and she, for some reason, felt naked under his gaze. He had a complacent smirk on his face, only the corners of his lips curling up. She wondered why he was so content with himself. When the silence became unbearable, she quickly announced,

"I am going to take shower!"

"Need help?" House jokingly asked.

"House!" Cuddy protested.

"What? It's part of my hospitality program" he added with a devilish grin on his face, admiring his own inventiveness.

"Thank you! I think I'll pass!" she said although her mind wandered off to the possibility of having a steamy shower with him. She quickly dismissed idea painfully aware of the fact that House wouldn't find her attractive like this.

"I'll fix us something to eat! What do you want?"

"I'd go for some crackers and tea, if you have any?"

He just nodded and walked over to her handing her the bag he brought over from her house. She extended her hand and grabbed it, their fingers lightly brushing. Before he had a chance of pulling his hand back completely, she clasped her fingers around his and softly said,

"Thank you!"

He looked away, completely disarmed by her gratitude, and muttered under his breath,

"You are welcome!" House quickly disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Cuddy to stare after him in amazement. She smiled a full-hearted smile, her eyes sparkling vividly in excitement, as she turned around and walked to her _new_ room.

The room was literally new. New bed set, new pillows and comforter, even a new set of towels and a neatly folded bathrobe. All in gentle lavender color. She raised her hand to her half-opened mouth and chuckled girlishly. _I must be dreaming_, she thought to herself and quickly grabbed one of the towels and the bathrobe, imagining that all of this would be gone by the time she showered.

Cuddy quickly showered, admiring every new detail in House's bathroom. It was still a very bachelor bathroom but with all the little details added, it made her feel right at home. She dried her hair with a towel, wrapped her body in the comfy cotton bathrobe reaching to her ankles and went to look for House. She found him in the kitchen leaning over the counter, engrossed in some medical journal nibbling on a sandwich. She stood quietly in the door, observing him. Without lifting his gaze he said to her,

"No need to hang in the door! You are either in or out!" He extended her a plate with some crackers, cheese and fruit, knowing well she was in already.

"What are you reading?" she asked politely, moving to neutral grounds.

"Been researching the Noonan syndrome lately, nothing in particular. Same old genetic disorders! Fun stuff!" House said lifting his eyes and meeting hers.

"Does this have to do anything with me or my baby?" She asked with a visible concern, preparing to take a bite of her food.

"No, Cuddy! Genetically, everything is fine with you. I was just brushing up on the identification techniques since the syndrome is not always identified at an early age and yet is one of the most common genetic syndromes associated with congenital heart disease," he tried to offer a reasonable explanation.

"I know, I just thought…" she said clumsily, tears collecting in her eyes.

He quickly approached her, without breaking the locked gaze between them. He could feel his heart beat harder, but he was more afraid that she could hear it to. His left hand was slightly trembling and he attempted to hide it in his pocket but when he finally reached her he decided against it.

He put a finger on her mouth and said, "Don't think!"

He instantly replaced it with his lips. He leaned in and kissed her softly, testing her will as he glided his tongue over her partly opened lips. She hesitated for a second, overwhelmed by emotion and surprise, but quickly raised her left arm and placed it around his neck, to draw him closer in, and kissed him back.

House felt a gentle, lingering touch of her lips as he tried to inhale her deeper into his senses. Her scent and taste drove him insane, making him want more and desire the impossible. A hesitation on both parts as they touched and held onto each other, as if both were taking the time to memorize the feeling before they parted, was tantalizing.

They separated for a brief moment, only to catch their breaths. House's blue eyes searched hers, wanting, demanding, and hers answered, heavy-lidded, and sparkling, her face tilting up. He brushed his thumb lightly across her cheekbone before lowering his face again to hers, his lips brushing at first lightly across the satin of hers. Cuddy's lips opened up in return, inviting more. He pulled her even closer as he deepened the kiss, feeling their child in between them, his tongue dancing with hers, exploring her taste as she melted against him. And they kissed, like there was no tomorrow.

If anyone asked him, in that moment, to describe what he felt he would write, in an incoherent, drunken mode. _Honey. Electricity. Amnesia. _

It was Cuddy, this time, who broke the kiss. She pulled back, unable to look at him in the eye, and guiltily said,

"It's TPN time!"

He just simply nodded, agreeing to let her go and break this moment between them. He lowered his eyes and focused on the tiles, unable to put into words what he really wanted or even needed. Instead, he just watched her leave. When he heard the doors close he slammed his fists against the counter, in disappointment.

Cuddy walked into her room and firmly closed the door behind her. Then, without any intention, she just leaned against it, her heart racing, threatening to jump out of her chest. She quickly collected herself and sat dejectedly on the right side of the bed, hooking up the TPN. They have been through this once, the kiss and the emotional debris, and she was certain she had no strength left in her to put the broken pieces again. The intensity of emotional turmoil was just too overwhelming for her. She sprawled on the bed and closed her eyes. She decided not to think about House or how his lips tasted, or how his body felt against hers. However, all her decisions were _in vain_.

* * *

**Friday, 4:00am**

Her alarm clock went off and she lazily searched for it, rubbing her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. There was a tiny hint of light coming under her door, telling her that he was either still awake or he forgot to turn off his light.

She pulled a new TPN bag out of the small refrigerator and secured it on her PICC line. She stared into the darkness of her room as she imagined their kiss, over and over again. She touched her lips with the left hand, remembering clearly how wonderful he felt there.

Thirty minutes later her TPN bag was empty and she rolled on the side, in attempt of sleep. The light under her door just wouldn't let her. She slowly got up and tiptoed over to the living room, careful not to wake him up if he was asleep. The lights were on, as she suspected, but so was the TV.

He _was_ asleep. He seemed comfortably stretched on the pull-out couch bed, serenity and peace on his face; expressions you would not ordinarily associate with the face of Gregory House. He was wearing only his cotton lounge pants and no T-shirt. His toned, shirtless torso was lightly covered with a blanket but most of his muscles were visible to her curious eye. She turned the lights off and stood in front of the couch, silently, observing him under the light of TV.

She didn't know how long she'd stood there when an impulse drove her to his bed side. She quickly lifted the blanket off of his body and scooched her own body in, curling her back against his bare chest. Then she lifted his left hand and placed it on her own waist, watching carefully the PICC line in her right arm. With one swift motion she covered them both with his blanket and whispered gently,

"Good night!"

She could swear that, before she drifted to sleep minutes later, she felt his grip tighten and his hand possessively trail over her abdomen.


	19. Tug of war

Disclaimer - We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 17~

~Friday 7:30am~

In sleep, House shifted, drawing her closer. As their bodies pressed intimately close, a dull throb of need moved through her. Her skin heated against his, tingling with the contact. Against the slow, steady beat of his heart, hers began to thud erratically. Desire had never seemed more demanding, yet he did nothing more than lie quietly beside her, deep in his own dreams.

It would always be like this, she realized as she settled her head in the crook of his shoulder. He would give her very little peace. Though she was a woman who had always taken peace for granted, Cuddy would now forfeit it cheerfully.

For a long time she lay awake, listening to him sleep, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back. This would never change, no matter how hard they both protested it, she told herself. This _need_ to hold each other. She burrowed against him for a moment, filling her nostrils with his scent. As long as she lived, Cuddy knew she would remember every second and every beat of this moment together. She would need no diary to remind her of young, churning fires when she was old. No passage of time would dull her memory or her feelings.

With a sigh, she brushed a whisper of a kiss on his lips. He didn't stir, but she wondered if he dreamed of her. She wanted him to, and closing her eyes, she willed him to. Carefully, she drew away from him, then moving lightly, slipped from his bed.

Cuddy slowly tiptoed out of the living room and returned to her room. She was afraid of what she might read on his face once he woke up. _Indifference_. _Regret. Rejection_. She was prepared to deal with everything but another rejection. In her mind, it was easier this way; a palpable illusion that could be both a dream and reality. She was leaving it up to him to deduce. The first step was already made when she snuggled next to him; the second one he had to make.

She had no intention of going back to sleep since they were supposed to be at work soon, so she quickly decided to take a hot shower and make some coffee and breakfast, for both of them.

* * *

She was in the kitchen, he thought to himself as he drifted awake half an hour later. House sat up in his bed, carefully placing his right leg on the floor, listening. She was rooting through the cupboards, clattering something. Water was running. The scent of homemade breakfast grew stronger. _How long_, he wondered, _had he waited to feel this way?_ _Complete_. He hadn't known he had been waiting, but he did know what he had found. She filled the emptiness that had nagged at him for years, healed an old, festering wound. She held all the answers to all his questions.

_And what would he bring her_? his long-neglected conscience demanded. House closed his eyes. He knew himself too well to pretend he would give her a smooth, serene life. His temper was too volatile, his manners too intrusive. Even with adjustments to both, he couldn't paint her a quiet suburban life. His life, past, present and future, had too many complications. Even this, their first peaceful morning together, would have to be marred by one of his ghosts. He had to tell her the truth about her child. _Their child_. There was a burst of rage followed by a prickle of fear as he thought about it. He clenched his fists tightly around the soft fabric of his sheets before quickly grabbing his cane. A shooting pain in his right leg reminded him how damaged he was and how damaging he would be for her. Vicodin should fix him, _but is truth enough for her_? he asked himself as he dry-swallowed two white pills and headed for the bathroom.

Cuddy busied herself around the kitchen when she heard him limp in, still ruffled from sleep and wearing nothing but his comfy lounge pants that sat possessively on his hips.

"Morning, Dr. Cuddy." House said cheerfully, pulling a happy face on. It cost him all the restraint in the world not to show how disappointed he was, in himself.

"Morning, Dr. House." She replied in the same, bubbly tone

"Smells good." House slowly limped in, sniffing the aroma that enriched the air around them "I had no idea you knew your way around the kitchen." he added mockingly, focusing his questioning gaze on her damp hair and the oversized bathrobe hugging her body. He wondered if she was wearing anything underneath it.

"I am a woman of many talents." she replied cockily, placing her left hand on her hip.

"If by talents you mean overachievement, I am sure you are." He deliberately offered a string of sarcasm only to approach her closer. He didn't touch her, but she smelled his familiar male scent mingled with the soap and felt his body heat.

"Never bite the hand that feeds you, House." Cuddy inhaled deeply and handed him a cup of freshly brewed coffee and a plate of homemade waffles.

"Can I bite something else? I am sure I could find a more interesting place than your hand." House picked one strawberry from the steaming waffles and demonstratively bit into it, making his point.

Cuddy lowered her eyes and blushed slightly.

"I think you need to get dressed. That porn at work won't download by itself." Cuddy quickly turned her back on House, almost ashamed of her reaction. She felt her face flush when she realized he was flirting with her, this early in the morning. She instantly found a distraction by collecting the dirty dishes, everything in an attempt to avoid his piecing icy-hot gaze.

"Good point, but…" House raised both of his eyebrows, eyes wide open, and smacked his lips nervously, making a bubbly sound "…we need to talk." He leaned over her shoulder and almost whispered the last part of his sentence into her ear.

His voice was like a deep ocean in sublime tempest, merciless and gentle at the same time, and even now she could feel it ripple through her body. Dear God! His arms tightly knit around her last night, the scent of him, and the feel of his hard, muscular body against hers had caused her body to respond as a woman. The dampness between her upper thighs, her racing heart and difficult breathing, reminded her that she wasn't prepared for the softness of his kiss last night. She closed her eyes, and let her memory rewind itself back to that moment. _His lips moved gently over hers. Their breaths merged and matched rhythm. With light kisses he stroked her aching lips, over and over again. To linger, to savor, to make each moment, each taste last; that was her only thought._

Cuddy opened her eyes to a non-so-subtle realization. She _really_ liked him. More than she should. More than what made sense.

When she finally turned to look at him, there was a fire burning deep inside him and it sent a message from his inner being to hers. She wanted to break eye contact with him, but her eyes refused to yield to reason. She only managed to slightly tilt her head and defiantly purse her lips before asking,

"OK. What about?" Her intrinsic defense mechanism was telling her to stay alert.

"About…" he squeezed the initial word between his teeth, gathering courage from every inch of his body "… last night."

"Last time you told me to forget it, that there is nothing to talk about. Why is it different this time?" she reminded him defensively, remembering lucidly his exact words.

"Last time…" House stuttered, hesitating before her accusatory tone. He knew she had all the right to accuse him, to insult him, to verbally crucify him but he felt cornered and decided that silence was his best defense. So he pressed his lips back together.

"And I thanked you for not taking advantage of me. Have you changed your mind?" Cuddy demanded a verbal answer while her eyes were making a different kind of plea. She begged him not to hurt her, again.

"No! Yes…I mean, yes I want to talk about it, not take advantage of you." He said in confusion, her look already taking the toll on him.

"I am listening." She carefully crossed her arms at her chest and slightly tilted her head back, studying him carefully.

"How do you think this is gonna end?" House opened the conversation with a question, so _unmistakenably putting his best tactic forward: attack is the best defence. _

"I don't know we even started something. Kind of pointless to think how it's gonna end. You said you didn't want a relationship." She reminded him again, unknowingly rubbing salt into the open wound.

"Why did you kiss me back, then?" House's deflection turned into an indirect attack, a stronger version of an attempt at self-defense. If he could project it on her then he would not have to take responsibility for his own actions. He, after all, kissed her first.

Cuddy remained silent, refusing to indulge him with an answer. She knew better than to succumb to his deflection cobweb.

"You know what would have happened last night if you hadn't walked away?" His words were rough with impatience. House found himself wanting to shake her.

"Yes."

"Is that what you want?" House asked, deliberately throwing the ball in her court.

Cuddy said nothing for a moment. When she bitterly smiled, the light didn't reach her eyes. "It's not what you want," she said quietly remembering painfully how he refused her once. Turning, she attempted to nonchalantly stroll past him, but House caught her arm, spinning her around. He was furious now, all the more furious when he saw the effort her composure was costing her.

"Damn it, Cuddy, you are a fool if you think I don't want you!"

"You don't want to want me," she returned evenly, disappointment sparkling from her blue eyes "That's more important to me."

"What difference does it make?" he ground out impatiently. Frustrated by the calmness of her answer, he did shake her. How could she look at him with those big blue quiet eyes when she'd driven him to the wall last night? "You know how close I came to taking you right here on the kitchen floor? Isn't it enough to know you can push me to that? What more do you want?" House was almost yelling.

She gave him a long searching look. "Push you to it," she repeated quietly. "Is that really how you see it?"

The conflict raged in him. He wanted badly to both get away from her and hold her closer. "Yes," he said bitterly. "How else?"

"How else," she agreed with a shaky laugh that started a new ache moving in him. "I suppose for some that might be a compliment."

"If you like," he said curtly as he twirled the coffee cup in his hands

"I don't," she murmured "But then, you always said I was odd." With a sigh, she defiantly stared into his eyes. "You've cut yourself off from your feelings, House, and it eats at you."

"You don't know a damn thing," he tossed back, even more exasperated to hear her speak the truth.

As he glared at her, Cuddy heard her phone go off in the leaving room. The high, annoying ringing pitch suited the air of tension and anger. Atypically for her, she let it ring.

"You are not nearly as hard or cold as you'd like to think of yourself." she said calmly

"You don't know anything about me," he countered furiously, grabbing her arms again consciously making sure not to hurt her in the process.

"Oh, but I do. It infuriates you when your guard slips," Cuddy continued her original thought without breaking rhythm. "It infuriates you even more that you actually might feel something for me." His fingers loosened on her arms, and Cuddy drew away. "I don't push you, but something else certainly does," she tilted her chin up adding "And no, I don't know what it is, but you do." She took a long steadying breath as she studied him.

"You have to fight your own tug-of-war, House!" She finally poured it in his face, their lips only inches apart. When he remained silent, she raised both of her hands in defeat and expressively gave up.

Turning, she walked in the direction of her room to finally get dressed, leaving him staring at her. With the final swing of her hips she sealed the conversation between them but made yet another step towards him. Now, he would either _stay_ and open up his cards or _run_, folding.


	20. Inverse Déjà vu

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 18~

Tuesday evening

_After three days of miserable solitude and deliberate avoiding of each other:_

Cuddy was convinced he folded; House decided to never underestimate the power of denial; in his case, the power of bluff.

For a long time after they arrived home from work Cuddy sat in the kitchen sipping her tea. It was lightly raining outside and she absentmindedly listened as the steady drip from the roof plopped musically onto the windowsills. She was aware how hasty her words to House had been, yet she felt better having said them out loud. If only he wasn't so stubborn.

No, she wasn't as blindly confident as she appeared. Inside, she was terrified by the knowledge that she loved so irrationally. She was trusting, yes, but not naïve. She understood there was a price to pay for trust, and that often it was a dear one. _Could she trust him?_ She asked herself knowing that her choice had already been made. Looking back at their history, perhaps, she'd never had one.

Rising from her chair, Cuddy switched off the lights and began walking towards the living room. She knew she would find him vegetating in front of the TV, sulking more than paying attention and that thought painted a smile on her face. She silently giggled as she dragged her feet through the hallways, bringing him a cup of tea. She couldn't avoid him forever. _Was it her innate guilt or a sense of gratitude for being there for her_, she couldn't differentiate.

She approached him cautiously, almost tiptoeing, as her long, charcoal lounge pants covered her bare feet. He slowly looked up and observed her carefully. His gaze lazily trailed down from her chin and lips to her bare feet, taking time to remember every inch of her as she stood there, glowing naturally and at ease with herself.

House tried, with all his mental power, to avert his gaze, but his blue eyes remained glued to her abdomen and the gentle swell of her belly beneath the thin, cotton t-shirt. A small pinch of paternal pride awoke in him as he imagined pressing his palm against it.

Only when she extended her left hand and gave him a cup of hot, steaming tea he finally broke away from the spell she had cast when she appeared in front of him and looked at her beautiful eyes. Without too much drama, she shyly said lacking a better excuse,

"Thank you for bringing the TPN bags home. It totally slipped my mind today."

He locked his eyes on hers and for one metaphysical second lost himself in them. That was the power she had over him; to reduce him to a dreaming boy with one single glittery look.

"You're welcome," House replied, still surprised by her presence. Then, after giving it some thought he cynically asked, "You came here just to tell me that?"

She waited for what seemed an eternity for him and finally said, "No. But I will leave you with it." She impatiently tucked a disobedient curl behind her ear and disappeared in her room.

House remained sitting on his couch, amazed and shocked at the same time, his lips partly opened. A split-second déjà vu appeared in front of his eyes bringing a sour smile to his face; he visibly remembered the very second she failed to ask him to father her child a couple years back, during her first IVF treatment. Without mentally revisiting his old ghosts, he grabbed his cane and limped after her.

Cuddy was bending over to reach a new TPN bag out of the refrigerator when House pushed his way in. He eyed her perfect bottom wrapped in the comfy cotton of her pants and quickly remarked as if he had no regrets,

"Second trimester ass looks good on you."

She slowly closed the refrigerator door and turned to face him, holding the milky bag with both of her hands. She didn't say a word although her faint smile gave away that she registered what he said; if he wanted to talk, she would let him.

"Can I help you with that?" House asked politely referring to her TPN treatment.

"Sure," Cuddy replied plainly, as she sat on her bed, stretching her feet forward and clasping her left hand over her belly.

House walked around the bed and sat next to her, gently removing the bag from her shaky hands and attaching it to its stand. When she straightened her right arm, giving House a better access to her PICC lumen, his brows came together in a frown.

"How long has this been red?" He asked as he palpated the area around the place where the catheter went under her skin.

She slightly squirmed under his touch and replied timidly with a shadow of concern in her voice, "I don't know. I haven't really noticed anything."

He quickly got up, his cane magically appearing in his hand again, and said as he walked out, "Let me get some ice for it. You must have irritated it during sleep or something. I'll be right back."

A couple of minutes later House was back, carrying a bucket of ice, two washcloths and a small towel. Without speaking, he began tracing the irritated spot with a few cubes of ice. He worked in very slow, very deliberate circles, his eyes fixed on hers. Though his palm was rough, his touch was gentle. Cuddy's lips trembled apart. With something like curiosity or invisible magnetism, House took a damp finger to trace the shape of her lips. He felt her quick, convulsive shudder. Still slow, still inquisitive, he ran his fingertip along the inside of her bottom lip. Under his thumb, the pulse in her wrist began to hammer. A lightning broke briefly through the blinds, so that the light shifter and brightened before it dimmed again. He watched it play over her face.

"You won't run away this time, Cuddy," he murmured, as to himself.

She said nothing, afraid to speak while his finger lingered on her lips. Slowly, he traced it down, over her chin, over the throbbing pulse in her throat. He paused there for a moment, as if gauging and enjoying her response to him. Then he allowed his fingertip to sweep up over the swell of her breasts and lie lightly on the erect peek covered only by the thin cotton shirt.

Heat and cold shot through her; her skin was chilled from the ice, her blood flamed at his touch. House watched the color drain from her face while her eyes grew impossibly large and dark. Yet she didn't draw away or protest the intimacy. He heard the sharp intake of her breath, then the slow, ragged expulsion.

"Are you afraid of me, Lisa?" He asked whispering her name gently, echoing his own fears in the silence of the room. She closed her eyes as he brought his hand up to cup her left cheek.

When she didn't say anything, he moved closer to her and pinned his fingers under her chin, gently forcing her to lift her head and open her eyes. At the contact a current of electricity shot down her spine and spread through her body, and her eyes opened with a shiver of her long, black lashes. Her blue irises reminded of a turbulent storm as she raised her face to his.

There were no words as their eyes met, and she realized the inevitability of the moment. She knew that had been drifting steadily toward this since the first night she moved in, but his behavior of the last three days _almost_ convinced her that she was just another game for him, another mystery to be solved; and since mysteries were not necessarily miracles he was bound to walk away from her life, sooner or later. Yet, a flicker of hope kept lingering somewhere around her heart and as long as it existed, she wasn't going to let it expire.

His lips were warm and gentle on hers as he kissed her slowly. Then, with increasing pressure, his tongue parted her lips and his arms tightened around her, crushing her breasts against the hardness of his chest. Her arms twined around his neck. She responded as she had never responded before, putting all her hopes and dreams in. The thought ran through her clouded brain that no one had ever kissed her like this, no one had ever held her like this; all these years she had been fooling herself. Then, in the same fashion as their appeared, her thoughts were drowned in a tidal wave of passion.

She made no resistance when he lowered her onto the bed, her arms above her head and the swollen lips still possessively captured by his. The weight of his body only partially pressed against her sides as he consciously avoided putting pressure on her abdomen; however, his desire was no secret to her as she felt it burn on her thigh. His mouth began to roam, exploring the smooth skin of her neck. The fire of a new and ageless need raged though her veins. She felt the thudding of a heart – hers or his, she couldn't tell – as his lips caressed her throat and face before meeting hers with possessive hunger. His hand moved under the thin fabric of her t-shirt to cup her breasts that swelled under his touch. She sighed and moved under him, positioning herself on the side to better meet his demanding strokes.

Cuddy was lost in a blaze of longing such as she never known, responding with a passion she had kept buried all these years, as his lips and hands moved with expertise over her warm and willing body.

When his hands moved to the gentle swell of her stomach, and when she felt his fingers moving under the waistband of her lounge pants, a sudden realization dawned on her and she began to struggle against him.

"House, please don't. You have to stop." Cuddy let out a muffled cry.

He lifted his head from the curve of her neck to look into the deep pools of her eyes, now filled with both fear and desire. His own breathing was ragged.

"Lisa," House murmured, and bent to claim her lips again, but she turned her head and pushed against him.

"No, House, I can't do this."

A long breath escaped from his lips as he removed his body from hers, absentmindedly scratching his stubble and, seconds later, pushing both of his hands through his hair, in confusion. Cuddy sat up, clutching her hands in her lap, keeping her head lowered to avoid his questioning gaze.

"I always knew you were a tease, Cuddy, but I never knew you were cruel," House said in disappointment, deliberately stabbing her with verbal daggers.

"I am not!" she protested, her head snapping up at the harshness of his tone. "That's unfair."

"Life is unfair, deal with it!" House childishly blew air into his cheeks only to let it out with a bubbly sound. He kept his gaze on Cuddy.

"I…" Her voice shattered into a void of spasms but she decided to continue anyway, shying away from her original thought.

"Things have changed, House," she locked her eyes with his, making sure that he was fully aware of her reasoning. "This is not about sex anymore and I am not sure you understand it," she said in unbelievably sad voice.

And that was the truth and the human condition. For Cuddy, sex with House was the highest level of desire to touch and be touched, to love and to be loved, and once she had done so, it would be impossible to keep it casual. It was about belonging and she wanted to belong to him, body and soul.

"What are you saying?" he asked perfectly knowing what she had meant.

"I am saying I need more than sex. Four months ago a "one night stand" would have worked, for you, for me, no strings attached …" she barely managed the words across her lips knowing that she was lying. A one night stand with House was never an option; at least not for her.

"Who says this would be a one night stand, Cuddy?" House asked, strongly believing in his words.

"You don't want a relationship and you surely don't look like somebody who would raise a kid, let alone someone else's kid. You are not a fatherly type," she said in one breath and then continued when he remained silent. "You would end up hating me for dragging you into this or hating my child for standing in your way. I can't let that happen."

"Ouch, that was harsh!" House made a silly face and attempted to say something humorous in his defense but her words hurt him so much, rendering him speechless. He looked at her in shock, pain radiating out of his body like poison. Cuddy failed to recognize it.

"See, you can't even be serious. You can't have a mature conversation without turning everything to a joke." She said with a strong criticism then purposefully added, "It's all or nothing House, and since you are incapable of giving it all or being at least a father figure to this child," Cuddy patted her stomach and lowered her voice as she spoke, almost to her belly "…then I am afraid this between us is not going to work."

And there it was, a sudden realization that she could never view him, or even consider him, fit to be the father of her child. Hell, he didn't consider himself either but he was, at least, willing to try. What he was incapable or unwilling to try was telling her the truth since he was convinced she would hate him; and that would destroy him completely, beyond repair.

Then he tried a different approach; cashing in on her guilt. Seduction had obviously failed.

"Cuddy, hold on!" he demanded raising both of his hands in defense "Was this all a game to you? Were all those kisses and shudders just a nice little performance so you could give me all this crap about not being in a relationship with you?" House ended his little speech a scale higher than intended.

"No, House, I don't play games, you do. This ishow I feel, unglued by your touch, scarred by your lips but I am not sorry for kissing you."

She gulped for air as she admitted and uneasily added, "And if I have to choose between sleeping with you and my child, I choose my child. You taught me that I can't have it all!" Cuddy raised both of her eyebrows and looked at him, asking, "Isn't that ironic?"

When she uttered the last word House realized that he came totally unprepared for a lioness that was protecting her cub. Cuddy was ready to do anything in her power to protect their child. Even from him. He quickly consolidated his thoughts and drew his last card, hoping to win. Truth.

"What if I told you I wanted it all, too?" He extended his hand to touch her again, seeking shelter in her embrace.

"I wouldn't believe you," She said harshly, shivering under his touch. Her heart refused what her lips were saying but there was no going back so she added in the same tone.

"Because for you, House, the end justifies the means and you are not getting into my pants." She hated appearing weak in his eyes and her blatant refusal just proved that House had turned her into a stubborn woman; sometimes too stubborn for her own good. Cuddy pierced him with her blue eyes that were already filling with water and added, in an uncharacteristically shaky voice,

"You can't go on touching me like that. I am not made of stone!"

Gregory House was never a violent man but her liquid blue eyes in combination with her pleading refusal made him shriek in rage.

"Damn it, Cuddy!" he said, getting up and almost throwing his cane to the floor. He furiously limped away from her, emotionally empty and broken. Finally gathering composure he said in a voice that chilled blood in Cuddy's veins; intentionally cruel. "I will _never _touch you again. You have my word, even if it doesn't mean much to you. Next time, if there is ever one…" he emphasized his words, pouring sarcasm and bitterness out of every syllable "…you will have to ask me to touch you and you will have to be absolutely sure. I don't negotiate."

Cuddy's tears, sticking to her long eyelashes, were framing her face faster now, her sobs no longer silent as she pulled her legs tighter against her body in a useless attempt to comfort herself and shut out the pain that his words caused.

Sorrow veiled her eyes. Tears clouded her vision. But her tears were not oars dipping into the sea. In that moment she understood what she had done; she understood that her tears were a handful of pebbles in the pocket of a sailor whose ship was about to founder in a savage wave. Irreversibly.

"I can't fight your tears, Lisa," House brokenly said and turned to leave, gripping tightly on his cane. He gave her one last look before he closed the door behind him; a look that contained all the sadness and remorse of this world.

"Greg…" she whispered into the silence oh her room, hot tears now galloping down her beautiful face. She cried herself to sleep as if the entire world, and all of its beauty, had come to an end. The full TPN bag remained untouched on the nightstand.

* * *

House smirked, feeling a salty sting in his eyes as he walked across the living room, tapping his way in the darkness, over to the window.

The night was very stormy, the wind shook the trees like a limp doll and the wild, summer rain pounded on the windows like a drum; it wasn't a lullaby and it perfectly reflected what was going on in his soul. House stared at the empty street with a glass of scotch in his hand, thinking of what had just happened. She rejected him.

For the next six hours the subtle exchange of scotch and soft, melancholic piano tunes filled the gloomy air around him. He wasn't sure if he was still alive; everything suddenly lost meaning. Several times that night he competed against rain playing Cuddy's Serenade and every time he felt he had lost for she had never heard the piece he composed for her. Will she ever? He asked himself as he washed two Vicodin down his throat with a hefty gulp of alcohol, hoping it would wash away his pain. However, there were not enough drugs or alcohol in this world to cure what was ailing him.

At 4:00 am Cuddy woke up for her PICC feeding session. Remembering that she missed her previous one at 8:00 pm she grabbed both bags and attached them simultaneously, barely opening her eyes. Her head was pounding from the extensive crying and all she wanted was to get it over with as soon as possible, blocking all other information from her brain. She refused to think. Her physical exhaustion was stronger than the power of her will and she fell asleep minutes later.

House heard the rustling noise coming from her room and wondered if he should have helped her. Only when the silence completely enveloped the apartment he gathered courage to enter and watch her sleep.

He found something soothing in watching her sleep, bearing witness to the stillness of her beating heart tapping into peaceful echoes of rest because he knew her days are restless and consumed by a world gone relentless in the pursuit of perfect appearances and fake masks.

He had been there, he had strained his eyes searching the bottoms of empty shot-glasses for reasons behind the unreasonable, searching his past for excuses to keep his distance from  
those who'd ever tried to love him. He had been there, he had cut his fingers on the shards of shattered hearts he had broken, desperately attempting to steal the parts to replace the pieces missing from his life only to learn that despite how many shattered pieces he found he would never find a piece that fits. Until now.

So he continued to watch her sleep closely, resting his chin on the cane handle, because as imperfect as he was, he would rather stay close all night then to wake up trembling; afraid, alone and lonely.

The storm outside was giving up slowly but before dawn the last lightning crashed his hypnotic state as the light traveled across her body. He noticed two empty bags attached to her PICC line and a massive swelling extending from her neck down her right arm. He jumped in terror and approached her slowly, cautious not to scare her beyond expected. He shook her shoulders gently and called her,

"Cuddy, wake up!"

Cuddy stretched lazily and murmured something unintelligible only to slightly roll over and continue sleeping. This time House gave her a stronger tug.

"Cuddy, listen. You have to wake up." When she barely opened her eyes still cloudy from her sleep and red-framed from her tears, he continued, "Listen to me, damn it! Your PICC line has clotted and you have massive swelling on your right side. I need to get you to the PPTH. Now!" His voice was intentionally acute, as her eyes grew bigger with each second, "Can you sit up?"

Cuddy nodded and with some effort straightened herself in bed. House grabbed his cell and quickly dialed the PPTH ambulance ordering them to get their asses to his apartment as soon as possible or someone would be fired.

"We need to take the PICC line out. The swelling is spreading fast." He explained as he pulled the ice chips from the small refrigerator and then quickly applied them to her neck. He wasn't sure which was trembling more, his voice or his hands.


	21. All roads lead to

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 19~

Cuddy's lost gaze kept focusing somewhere far past House despite his attempts to call her. She was in a state of shock knowing the gravity of the situation. House kept telling himself to sit and wait for the ambulance but he felt as if he needed to be standing; he needed to be ready. _For what_, he had no idea but he just couldn't get himself to sit. When the paramedics arrived, ten minutes later, the reality hit them both. Cuddy gasped for air almost falling into an anxiety attack snapping House out of his state of helplessness and back into motion. He was by her side in two quick, painful steps.

"Cuddy, look at me! Please, look at me!" He demanded more urgently now, shaking her shoulders. When she finally focused her eyes on him, House said "I need you to stay alert, to control your breathing. Can you do that for me?"

When she did not respond, he repeated more gently, "Lisa, can you do that for me?"

Cuddy weakly nodded as she tried to get up on her own, but failed. Two pairs of strong hands, gently wrapped around her waist, helped her onto the ambulance stretcher. In that moment he hated being a cripple, he hated being an invalid, both physical and emotional one. House firmly ordered focusing his gaze on the paramedic, who was standing by Cuddy's head,

"Put her in sitting position and give her oxygen." He motioned with his cane towards the headrest, "and be very careful with her right arm."

House finally added refraining from insults and bullying of those in lower rank than he had. He couldn't have her getting upset over that now; he was a jerk but he knew his limits. With a lifeless expression on his face he followed the paramedics out of his apartment.

House stayed with Cuddy in a painful, kneeling position while she was oblivious to what was going on around her. She felt him holding her hand, from time to time, and moving the wet curls away from her forehead but she was sure she was hallucinating. It must have been a product of her imagination. The roads went by almost as if in slow motion, yet they arrived to the PPTH quickly. _If adrenalin could be produced artificially, it would be one hell-of-a-drug_, House thought to himself as he finally released all the built-up air from his lungs and slowly stepped out of the ambulance.

Finally in the ER, House felt on his own territory where everything made sense and where he was no longer helpless. Looking at his watch he realized that the night shift was still in and that it was too early to call his team. Without further stalling he turned around and almost politely asked the closest nurse,

"Get me someone who's trained in PICC removal and wake up Dr. Richardson, tell her it's about Dr. Cuddy. Go!"

Limping around the medical station, House picked up a bag of saline, a syringe and a set of hypodermic needles. The night shifts tended to be short-staffed so he had to administer the IV drip and draw blood samples himself. He approached Cuddy's left side and carefully sat on her bed. He gently raised her arm into his lap and looked at her eyes, making sure that she was responsive to the procedure.

In silence, he drew the blood samples and attached a saline drip to her left arm when the head cardiology nurse walked in, followed by two other nurses. House instantly recognized the woman who inserted Cuddy's catheter a week ago and quickly said,

"Make sure that the tip of the catheter is placed in a sterile container and sent to the lab for C and S evaluation," then he turned to the other two nurses and ordered, handing her the plastic tubes "You, take these samples to the lab and you," he turned his head sharply towards the other girl "…get me the mobile ultrasound in here, now!"

The nurse diligently worked on removing the peripherally inserted central catheter, following House's instructions with military precision. House approached Cuddy's bed again and with a small tug on her shirt softly spoke,

"Your job is to stay alert and prevent panic. Mine is to take care of you, OK?" If he wanted to calm her down, he had to calm himself first and by emphasizing his role in this whole ordeal he was finally able to focus on what he had to do; thinking about his shortcomings and where he royally screwed up in the last four months wasn't helping either of them.

"OK." She barely whispered, closing her eyes. If anything, she was aware of her own breathing now; but more than that she was thankfully aware of his presence in her life.

"Now, rest! I am gonna go run some tests." House announced as quickly as he walked out, hating himself for leaving her.

* * *

Well before 9:00am the entire team was in House's conference room, prepared for a differential. Everyone was holding identical medical files, along with their coffee mugs, and none of them were pleased with what they had seen.

House approached the white board and slowly wrote, his heart sinking deeper and deeper with each letter.

**Multiple clots, neck to elbow**

**Venous thrombosis**

**Pulmonary embolism?**

"No prolonged signs of swelling, no infection," House looked at the chart before continuing "The ultrasound can't show us if any of the clots broke off and are travelling to her heart or lungs, she hasn't lost consciousness and breathes on her own," he recited before asking a question he knew answer to "How do we find a clot without using x-ray?"

"We can't," Thirteen said, briefly pausing to look at everyone "but we can give her blood thinners to prevent the clots reaching her heart or lungs. Heparin injections, which dissolve blood clots, have less risk of fetal damage." House looked back with indifference, silently asking for more ideas.

"How about Lovenox?" Kutner asked carefully "It doesn't get passed onto the baby but dissolves clots with the same success rate. However, it does require hospitalization and subcutaneous injections into her stomach, every day for the next five months." Everyone looked at each other in silent agreement, objectively failing to find a flaw in Kutner's suggestion.

"Fine." House said with a small shriek, as a visual of poking Cuddy's belly with a needle and leaving nasty bruises appeared before his eyes "Go run the aPTT, PT, platelet count, and D-dimer again. Repeat the bleeding-time test before putting her on Lovenox." He monotonously pointed to the glass door with the medical file he was holding suggesting to them to leave, instantly.

House walked over to the coffee machine as his team hurriedly exited the conference room. He just remembered that he hadn't slept the night before. A strong coffee was in order. For the next three minutes he stared into emptiness, his stomach violently knotting in trepidation.

When he finally sat down, pressing his forehead against his sweaty palms, he felt more alone and miserable than ever before. By reflex, his fingers fished for the cell phone in his pocket and absentmindedly dialed the only person who could have brought some reason into all of this. Wilson.

When he heard Wilson pick up on the other side, House quickly asked bringing the coffee mug to his lips,

"Where are you?"

"_Just getting out of the airport. Why?"_ Wilson replied with unhidden curiosity

"It's Cuddy." House plainly said flaring a red signal in Wilson's head. When there was no excitement in House's voice, for whatever reason, it meant something was seriously wrong.

"_What do you mean it's Cuddy? House, what happened?"_

"Her PICC clotted up and she has extensive venous thrombosis." When House heard Wilson exhale violently on the other side, he added "It's my fault."

"_Wait. No. It's not your fault. It could have happened to anyone."_ Wilson desperately tried to reason with him but felt that guilt had already started corroding that abrasive armor of his. Maybe for the better, he thought to himself.

"Yes, it could have happened to anyone but it didn't. It happened to me. It happened to her. Everything else seemed more important than looking after her."

"_House, what are you trying to say?"_

"We had a fight. She rejected me." He painfully exhaled the last three words.

"_You told her?"_ Wilson asked with a great deal of interest

"No."

"_How could she reject you if you haven't told her? Wait, don't tell me. You tried to get into her pants, didn't you?"_Wilson stated in a ridiculously screechy voice

"It wasn't like that." House tried to defend himself but in vain. He himself didn't believe that.

"_Oh God, House. You are an idiot!"_ Wilson screamed from the other side

"I know. What should I do?" House nervously fidgeted in his chair, desperately needing Wilson to come to his rescue.

"_It isn't about sex, it's about being with a man that is ready to grow up, House and take the relationship to the next level. When it comes to children, women draw their claws out and no matter what they say they need that contract, that whole shabang!"_ Wilson offered a life-lesson soliloquy knowing full well that House was paying close attention on the other side.

"In English, Wilson. I don't do yenta." He added mockingly, rolling his eyes.

"_She wants it all House, and remember, there will always be someone else out there that will promise her the world if you aren't ready or willing to give it to her."_

"Point taken, Dr. Phil," House offered Wilson one of those rare moments of admitting that his best friend was right. Without giving him a chance to gloat, he quickly asked "When are you coming in?"

"_An hour or so. Why? Is she gonna be OK?"_ Wilson asked not hiding his concern.

"I don't know," House said brokenly wishing he had a more definitive answer to offer to his friend "We have to wait and see if the blood thinners work." Like never before, House put all his bets and hopes on a tiny, liquid chemical compound, hoping it would work.

"_House, go talk to her, please. Tell her that she is not alone in this and that you are there for her. She could use your support, now more than ever."_Wilson pleaded him on an intelligent level, sneakily pushing the emotional button.

House suddenly felt a fierce resolve knowing it was _the courage he needed_. Wilson poured it into his system like a skilled mechanic changing the oil in a car. He mumbled something incoherent into Wilson's ear and hung up, determinately getting up from his chair.

"As Marcus Aurelius said, _and thou wilt give thyself relief, if thou doest every act of thy life as if it were the last_." House exuberantly announced to himself as he grabbed his cane. "Or in simple Rolling Stones terms - _show time_!"


	22. Stigmata

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 20~

House approached the ER in his trademark limp, rewinding the baby speech in his mind many times and polishing it to perfection, well before a characteristic, annoying beeping sound of a heart monitor reached his ears. Only when he noticed Cameron rushing in behind the curtain and nurses looking at him sympathetically, House realized that the frenzied, beeping sound was coming from Cuddy's heart monitor. He threw his cane and literally ran in, panic washing through his body like a tsunami. He didn't care if his right leg would give up; his physical pain seemed so marginal.

His teeth grinded against each other as he let out a frustrated cry. Pain welled up inside his eyes as the long sound of the heart monitor in the background made his reality more clear. House hysterically shouted incomprehensible things as the by-standing nurses struggled to keep him on his feet. Cameron gently put a hand on House's shoulder trying to calm him down and said,

"She went into respiratory distress, House. Her O-sats are dropping systematically." Cameron quickly walked around Cuddy's bed to the other side, offering House to listen to Cuddy's lungs himself. When she lifted her limp body off of the pillow House reached for his stethoscope, jerking it furiously from behind his neck. With one swift motion Cameron opened Cuddy's hospital gown giving House easier access to her back. She gently held her head and body against her own chest, visibly shaken.

He placed his left hand under her belly, to give himself leverage as he brought his right hand to Cuddy's back, bending her slightly forward. He pinched the chestpiece tightly between his fingers and pressed it gently against the smooth skin of her torso. He fine-tuned his ears and began listening carefully.

House rarely minded when two opposite forces of the universe collided; most of the time he sat back and enjoyed the show but when he felt _his child_ move under his fingers and when he, at the same time, realized that Cuddy's lungs were collapsing due to an oncoming pulmonary embolism, he despised the entire world profoundly. With every atom of his body he cursed the limitations of science and medicine and the extent of human greed and indifference; in core, he cursed himself.

Still feeling the tingling sensation on his fingers from his child's first kick, House broke the contact with Cuddy's body, hiding his eyes from Cameron and everyone else standing around. He was certain he was going to wear that burning stigmatic sensation on his fingers as a painful mark of his shame and failure, for the rest of his life. But at that moment it sent him overboard; without any will or possibility of controlling himself he threw the stethoscope to the floor, knocked a medicine cart over in pure rage and limped over to the closest wall.

When asked later what exactly had happened in those crucial seconds, nobody really had a definitive answer although everyone agreed they'd heard a dull, crackling sound followed by a painful roar. House clenched his left fist together and hit the wall with all his strength and rage, deliberately aiming to relieve himself from the mental torture he was going through. With his other arm he pressed against the wall and leaned heavily, burying his head in defeat. Blood was dripping from his knuckles.

Through the fog of noises and incomprehensible sounds, House heard Cameron give out orders to the nurses on how to stabilize Cuddy and keep her on respiratory support. Next he felt was her presence, lingering stubbornly behind him.

"House…" Cameron appeared by his side in two quick steps grabbing hold of his injured hand "Let me look at you hand."

"Leave it. It's not important." He jerked his hand out of hers realizing the gravity of his injuries when the sharp pain shot through his body but despite everything he quickly gathered his composure. There was no time for self-pity. "Give Cuddy another dose of Lovenox and get the team together."

"House there is no way we can save the baby." Cameron turned away, not being able to stand to see pain on his face as she uttered those words. She felt his professional defeat as her own.

"Find a way." He harshly said, limping away. One of the nurses picked up his cane and handed it over to him as he passed by. Blood was still dripping from his left hand but that fact escaped him completely.

* * *

House's team, along with Foreman, Chase and Cameron, gathered in his conference room ten minutes later. House remained sitting at the head of the table completely oblivious to their presence. His mind was elsewhere. Only the pen twirling in his right hand gave away that his brain was still functioning.

"House!" Foreman called him but without any success. He leaned over and tugged him by his sleeve, finally getting something that resembled attention. "What do you want us to do?"

"Increase the blood thinners dosage." House said, feeling like a drowning man who was desperately trying to hold onto a straw.

"That will kill them both!" Cameron screamed, surprised by House's reasoning. He was always so unyielding when it came to saving mothers over babies. "Are you insane?"

"I've been accused of that before, yes. Chase, can you do a blind catheter extraction?" House asked ignoring Cameron's previous remark with a childish expression on his face.

"No, House, I can't. The risk of rupturing the main pulmonary artery is too great. She could die on the table. What good would that serve?" Chase honestly evaluated the presented medical situation without feeling the need to suck up to House.

"You are ALL a bunch of sissies!" House insulted, covering his own fears.

"House, stop it! This is not a game anymore or one of your puzzles. Cuddy's life is on the line!" Cameron confronted him with a stern gaze. At that moment she was ready to punch him in the face.

"I know, God damn it! I went to medical school while you were still in the kindergarten." House deflected only to let fear and concern poke their ugly heads again "Isn't there something we can do to save them both?"

"Ventilation-perfusion scan (VQ) and the helical computed axial tomographic pulmonary angiography (HCTPA) are the two imaging modalities we have available right now." Kutner added, hoping to interrupt the bitterness that was pouring from all sides now. He understood that Cuddy was more than a patient but he couldn't decipher why House was so determined to save the baby, especially since he had always done the opposite.

As the team looked at each other mulling over Kutner's suggestion, Wilson walked in visibly disturbed. He hurriedly took off his jacket and joined the team at the table, grabbing the file from Taub. He plainly said, hating to interrupt the differential.

"I heard about Cuddy from the nurses downstairs. Please fill me in and continue. I'd like to help, if I can." Wilson said, catching his breath.

"Give us your medical opinion on VQ scans and HCTPA, Dr. Wilson." House demanded

"Radiation from HCTPA is dose-dependent, with radiation exposures greater than 0.05 Gy potentially causing fetal damage. The most vulnerable period for radiation-induced central nervous system damage is 8-15 weeks after conception," Wilson looked down at the medical file and disappointedly announced "She almost at 15 weeks. Still vulnerable."

House opened his mouth to dismiss the HCTPA when Wilson added,

"However, the studies show that HCTPA is actually associated with a lower average fetal radiation dose than VQ scanning during all trimesters." Wilson looked at House only to notice his bleeding hand "What happened to you?" he asked, his dark eyes growing bigger with each syllable.

"Nothing that can't wait a bit longer." He painfully winced as he hid his left hand under the table, making sure it didn't cause any further distractions.

"House, you should have it checked out." Cameron said sympathetically "It looks broken."

"I will but not now. Wilson, HCTPA?" House brushed off Cameron and focused on what mattered the most in that moment. His pain was secondary.

"I wouldn't recommend it, House." Wilson fidgeted in his chair before delivering his opinion.

"But you just said…" a slight shadow of confusion appeared across House's face as he tried to fathom what Wilson was getting at.

"Those were fetus-related risks I was elaborating on. The HCTPA exposes maternal breast tissue to relatively high doses of radiation, up to 35 mGy per breast. Do you really want to condemn her to that?" Wilson asked knowing how much pain he was causing him by saying that. He was literally making him choose between the woman he cared for and their child.

"No." House lowered his head in pain feeling the weight of his loss. It was one of those moments when reality hits so hard it kicks the air out of your lungs. Without saying a word, he slowly got up and limped to his office, leaving an eerie silence behind him. Wilson motioned to his team to stay seated, while he walked after him.

When the door was firmly closed behind him, Wilson drew the office blinds shut. He knew that the conversation pending was not going to be an easy one.

"House, you have to make that call." Wilson locked his eyes on his, making sure that he was listening to him. With an enormous amount of newly-found reason, he added "Cuddy's life is more important."

"I can't, Wilson. I can't kill my child." House whispered, as his lower lip trembled in pain and disbelief. He did not dare believe his own words yet he stood there like a bruised character from Dostoevsky's _Crime and Punishment_.

"Get yourself together, please, for the love of God!" Wilson shook him, feeling the pain radiate from House's body. Wilson knew exactly how he felt. He knew exactly, through losing Amber, what kind of torture he was going through, what he had to give up; something he grew to love. And his pain was even more profound given the fact how hard it was for House to love – anyone or anything. "Have your hand checked out. I'll send a nurse in and some strong coffee." Wilson said mildly, deliberately trying to shift House's attention to something else, and turned to leave.

"Wait. Where are you going?" House asked in panic, fearing his own behavior if left alone.

"To figure out how to break the news to Cuddy," he slowly said, hating the fact that House shifted the attention back. "You don't seem like someone who is willing or ready to do that." Wilson admitted honestly trying to evaluate House's mental state.

House shook his head confirming what Wilson had said and dejectedly sat in his chair. No amount of misery or physical pain could have ever felt the way he was feeling now; emotionally broken and empty. He violently ran the healthy hand through his hair and hissed something incomprehensible under his breath.

"Are you going to be OK?" Wilson asked worryingly.

"Do I look like I am going to be OK?" House offered a counter argument with a mixture or sarcasm and pain.

"No." Wilson drew his eyebrows together in understanding, and then quickly suggested "Maybe you should go home."

"And turn out to be an even bigger heartless bastard than I already am?" House painfully reminded himself of his shortcomings although no verbal reminder was needed; the memory of his child moving under his fingers would be enough of a punishment for life. A reminder that he had failed as a human being.

"Good point. Stay here. I will tell everybody to keep their business out. I'll be back after the surgeries." His best friend announced and walked out of his office, hurriedly, towards the ER. Passing by the conference room, Wilson motioned the remaining doctors to follow him. One by one they stood up, shooting a gaze towards House's door in wonder, and exited silently. Cameron deliberated, only for a brief second, whether to go in and offer some comfort but rationally decided against it and followed Wilson down the hallway.

House slowly got up and walked to his armchair, where the orthopedic nurse found him ten minutes later. She stitched up his hand and handed him the hot, strong coffee Wilson sent him; the nurse left as silently as she appeared, sensing that her patient wanted to be alone. House raised his hand in the air and looked at the stitches on the back of his hand, spreading across the purple-bruised knuckles to his long fingers, forming a letter "M".

"Murderer!" he told himself in pure guilt not knowing if he was strong enough to carry his own cross.

House's lips trembled as he said it. There was no one there to see or hear, as his coworkers were trying to save the woman he grew to love, but he let his eyes get filled with rare moisture and for a single moment he choked on it. Then he began to cry, in the way full-blooded grown-up men cried, opening his soul to the outer world for the first time in twenty-or-so years.


	23. Lacrimosa

_**A/N**_ – While you read this chapter, you should listen to the song "Lacrimosa, Mozart's Requiem" to set you in the mood. You can find it in Miss Cuddles' profile under the music library.

* * *

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 21~

Cuddy lay on the hospital bed wired to the complicated lot of devices and tubes that ICU patients had to bear with – IV drip, heart monitor, and respiratory machine. Her face and skin seemed washed out from all the medication that had permeated her blood, her breath came in strained gasps and her limbs lay paralyzed, inert.

She gazed out of the window; her brain lost focus as soon as her eyes wandered off and the beautiful August afternoon was completely lost on her. A deep, dark depression had descended onto her very being. The heaviness took hold of her mind, her limbs, and her heart – her very body yielded to darkness. There seemed to be no proverbial silver lining anywhere in the horizon. She sighed deeply under the respiratory mask as she turned her head over to face the wall. She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep, to forget, to never wake up. But sleep was far away. The truth was lingering viciously, way too close.

A weak inarticulate sound escaped her lips involuntarily as she heard someone walk in. Instinctively she curled up into a fetal position, holding her abdomen tightly. Wilson and Cameron slowly walked in, almost tiptoeing, wearing their most professional looks and trying to hide their real emotions. When they approached Cuddy's bed it struck them, as quick and potent as a lightning, that it wasn't Cuddy anymore; it was an empty shell that resembled their friend, someone who had already given up.

Wilson looked into Cuddy's blue eyes, deeply scared by tears, as he was sitting down beside her. He could see her pain, her agony. How could someone so beautiful be so sad? Then he realized that she knew; she knew the cruel twist that the cards of life had dealt her.

As she further curled up in her bed, the sound of Wilson attempting to speak and Cameron's muffled sobs burned in her ears. She tried to breathe steadily and float away, anywhere from this world. Hot tears stained her cheeks as she rolled her head to the right, in protest, and absentmindedly watched people in the hallway pass by. She didn't want to hear it but all of a sudden it all came crashing down. Wilson made her listen.

"Lisa, there is no easy way of saying this and I am sorry, in advance, for saying it," Wilson grabbed her pale and cold hand as he was gathering strength to continue "You have a pulmonary embolism and the only way to save your life is to terminate this pregnancy." He fixed his eyes on hers making sure she understood what he was saying.

There was such emptiness inside her; when Wilson withdrew his hand from hers it seemed like he took her soul with him. Her throat felt as if a telephone cord was wrapped tightly around it and she no longer needed to be consoled for this tragedy had already detached a life from her.

Her loud weeps continued as Cameron lifted her limp body and pulled her into an embrace. Cuddy's body was violently shaking, with each painful sob there came a strained gasp, and both of the doctors tried to calm her down.

"I am sorry," Cameron whispered still holding her tightly "I am _really_ sorry, Dr. Cuddy." She gently stroked her hair trying to empathize as much as she could in that situation. Cameron knew that Cuddy's world had just come crashing down and that no amount of consolation would able to help. For that reason they let her cry; they let her cleanse her soul.

Wilson and Cameron sat in silence for well over ten minutes, waiting for Cuddy to calm down and stop crying. If Wilson and Cameron had collected a dime for each tear Cuddy shed that afternoon they would have been really wealthy. It was emotionally and physically straining to watch her break like that, to watch her lose the zest for living.

When she finally calmed down, Cameron was forced to let her wounds bleed again by saying,

"Dr. Cuddy, I need you to sign this." Cameron extended her hand and put a clipboard with a medical consent form on it in her lap "We need to do two procedures consecutively, the DE and the pulmonary angiography, followed by the catheter extraction."

Cuddy didn't move or acknowledged that she heard what Cameron had just said. Then Wilson stepped in. He leaned closer, placing his right palm against Cuddy's cheek. He wiped her remaining tears and forced her to look at him, to listen to him.

"Lisa, you can trust me. You can trust us." He said slowly, making sure that each word sunk in properly into Cuddy's brain. "I know this is not easy for you. Hell, it's not easy for me or anyone in this hospital but we need to save you." Wilson inhaled deeply and pleaded with her "Please, sign the consent form."

Wilson took the pen from his lab coat pocket and pushed it into Cuddy's left hand. Only when he felt her fingers squeeze around it, he let go. Cuddy looked at him and then dropped her eyes towards the clipboard, focusing the gaze on her shaky hand. With some effort, she slowly lifted her head off of the pillow and with her right hand removed the respiratory mask from her face.

"Where is House?" Cuddy asked struggling for air "Why is he not here?" Each word was cut off by a sharp intake of air as she attempted to understand why her attending doctor wasn't there when she needed him most.

"He is with Chase," Wilson quickly constructed a lie and looked at Cameron for confirmation "They are scrubbing for the pulmonary angiography." A painful grimace on Cuddy's face revealed that she was not satisfied with that answer but that she had no choice but to accept it; questioning House's reasons was not only unnecessary but also insane under these circumstances. Cuddy looked at Cameron and slightly nodded. A second later she straightened the pen in her hand and with one energetic motion placed her signature on the consent form; she condemned her child to death. _What mother would do that?_ she asked herself.

"There." She said returning the pen to Wilson "_He_ was right, James. I would have made a lousy mother." She said brokenly, placing the respiratory mask back on her face and wrapping, soon for the last time, her hands around the tiny being she grew to love immensely. Cameron had no idea what she was talking about.

"Oh good God Lisa, don't say that. You will make a great mother. We just need to get through this." Wilson said reassuringly, trying to console his friend as much as possible.

Cameron turned to Wilson and gave him a reprimanding look while saying in her characteristic, morally-correct way,

"You should not give her false hopes, Dr. Wilson" Then she turned back to Cuddy and in a professional tone added, "I am not trying to add salt to your wounds, Dr. Cuddy but I am a doctor and it is my job to tell you that due to the invasiveness of the first procedure you might not be able to have children anymore." Cameron waited for a couple of seconds before adding "I am sorry." Then Cameron lowered her head, almost in defeat, realizing what she had just said. Guilt started twisting her insides in a tight knot as her eyes filled with tears.

"Dr. Cameron, why don't you go and see if Dr. Richardson is ready?" Wilson said hurriedly looking for ways to do some damage control. His heart sunk when he heard Cameron utter those words; he could have only imagined what effect they had on Cuddy. When Cameron got up to leave, feeling resolved from the somber responsibility, Wilson pressed the nurse call-button attempting to create a much-needed distraction and turned to his friend. By the looks of her he realized that the truth had already sunk in. She was clenching her fists around the white sheets of her bed, tears rolling from the corners of her closed eyes. Pain rippled on her face as the nurses pushed her bed out of the room, towards the OR.

Wilson leaned over and gently pressed his palm slightly above Cuddy's forehead, moving away some stubborn curls. "Hang in there, Lisa," he said gently and kissed her hair, feeling her body move away, as in slow motion, with the bed. He planted his feet in one spot and desperately looked after her, until the entire scene vanished around the corner.

Wilson closed his eyes, in disbelief, and briskly circled his face with his fingers wondering how he had gotten himself in this situation. Focusing down on the medical paperwork in his hands Wilson realized he needed House's approval and signature for both of Cuddy's surgeries; first one especially. Without too much deliberation, he turned around on his heel and decided to take the stairs, looking for some emotional relief before facing Judas himself.

* * *

House remained sitting where Wilson and the orthopedic nurse left him, his head buried in his fingers, his eyes red-rimmed and his gaze lost, beyond the carpet he was staring at. The image of Cuddy haunted him; the strained gasps she was fighting for, the fragility of her stature and her skin; the secret she was keeping in her womb – his secret which was about to die with his child. That thought brought him back from the self-induced coma he had willingly lapsed into and he quickly got up, resolved to finally talk to Cuddy and tell her the truth.

He limped out of his office, outside light painfully intruding his eyes, and headed over to the elevators. House felt as if that was the last chance to save his soul.

When he reached Cuddy's ICU suite, he found it empty and desolate, almost prison-like. Her belongings were still scattered around the room, however her bed was missing and House quickly realized that she had already been taken to the OR and that he arrived too late. Excruciating pain shot through his body and he blinked a couple of times to rebuff the stubborn salty drops forming in his eyes. For the first time in his life he felt both professionally and personally defeated. He took a deep breath, feeling the rib cage closing in on his lungs, and realized that he, just there and then, became a different man; more bitter, more miserable and more alone than ever before.

House gradually turned around to leave, feeling the heavy weight of misery on his shoulders, when a red object on the nightstand caught his eye. He extended his crippled pace and within two seconds was standing over it, sizing it curiously. He immediately recognized it – it was Cuddy's little red diary. Slowly he placed his long, lean fingers on top of it, feeling the texture of its cover, afraid that it might burn him if he kept them there any longer. Without giving it too much thought, and suspiciously looking around to see if someone was watching him, he grabbed it and hid it under his jacket. Not once had he asked himself whether it was moral or not, right or wrong; he just felt he had to do it.

Seconds later, as if a parallel universe vortex sucked him in, House found himself in the elevator heading back to his office. When the sliding doors finally opened on his floor Wilson appeared in front of him with a curious smirk on his face.

"Where were you?" Wilson asked, truly interested in his friend's whereabouts especially after the scene he witnessed in his office. When House remained silent, with an expression that almost resembled guilt, Wilson added, "I went to your office, you were not there."

"Duh." House said, in an awkward attempt to pour some of his characteristic humor and sarcasm out. "I went to see Cuddy," he lowered his head and looked at the tips of his shoes "but she was already taken into surgery." He was tightly gripping, like his life depended on it, the little red book he was hiding under his jacket.

"Speaking of surgery, I need you to sign this." Wilson said cautiously, awaiting a jerk reaction from House which, in the end, never came. House grabbed the clipboard and with two swift motions signed the papers. Then he raised his blue, guilt-ridden eyes to Wilson's and shoved the clipboard hard against his best friend's chest, asking brokenly in hoarse voice

"It's all over, isn't it?"

Wilson looked at House, carefully sizing him up from head to toe. He looked like a stranger to him; he looked like he had aged a good fifty years in the last hour. Wilson approached him, lowering his hand onto his shoulder gently and giving him a small pat of consolation.

"I am afraid it is, House. I am sorry."

House painfully winced, almost sure that he would puke if he heard those words again. _I am sorry, _covers all manner of sins, doesn't it? Wilson mumbled something about needing to go back and, soon enough, disappeared from House's vision field, leaving him standing abandoned in the middle of the hallway. When he finally moved, pivoting in attempt to decide where to go, a small sheet of paper fell from under his jacket next to his feet. He lazily looked down, ready to dismiss the nuisance, only to realize it was a baby sonogram, _his child's first image_.

With a lot of effort he bent over, resting heavily on his cane, and reached to pick it up. The sequence of events that followed was a direct outcome of this little discovery. House stopped by his office, picked up a full bottle of scotch that he had saved for special occasions and with a painful limp, headed over to the hospital morgue.

_Delay is the deadliest form of denial._


	24. Love Hurts

Disclaimer - We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 22~ Love Hurts

_Three hours later_

"House, open up the door!" Wilson grunted loudly and desperately banged on the morgue door until his fists hurt and his voice almost gave out.

"Go away." House said brokenly and took another sip of scotch from the half-empty bottle. He sprawled his feet in front of him, leaning heavily against the HR refrigerators. His jacket was crumpled and abandoned on the floor and next to it was her diary, religiously opened to a specific page.

"No, I won't go away. Not until you open the door or the hospital security breaks in." Wilson told him as he leaned his head against the door, "Either way, you lose."

"I don't care. Do you hear me, I don't care!" House shouted out, his vocal cords screeching like a dying violin, simultaneously breaking something against the tiled floor. Wilson, through years of working in chemical laboratories, had the uncanny knack of identifying lab glassware by the sound it made when it landed and broke on the floor. Undoubtedly, this time, the victims were the morgue beakers and test tubes along with some metal trays.

"House, she is out of surgery." The urgency in Wilson's voice grew as he pressed his palms against the cold door glass and sighed in, deeply. He was on the verge of giving up and calling the hospital security but he secretly hoped that the emotional appeal would help reason House into opening the door. In the end, he was right.

House got up slowly, a large dose of physical and emotional pain swirling through his veins, and approached the main door. He was very careful to skip all the pieces of broken glass as he limped over. Slowly he turned the key and opened the door, letting his best friend enter.

"Watch your step." He said with an obvious disinterest.

"What the hell happened here?" Wilson asked as he looked around the room, utterly shocked.

"I am having a little party. Would you care to join?" House asked and slowly sat down on the cold tiles, pain seeping out of his pores as he stretched his legs in front of him. He reached for his right thigh and violently rubbed his phantom muscle, desperately trying to ease some of the pain.

"House!" Wilson cried out in exasperation listening to the unnatural sound of his voice as it echoed through the morgue's morbid and chilling ambiance.

"Fine. Whatever, don't join. I could care less." House said as he reached for the scotch bottle, and clumsily dragged it towards him.

"You are drunk for Heaven's sake. What the hell were you thinking?" Wilson asked worryingly.

"Actually, I was wondering what I have killed?" House retorted with a heavy dose of snarkiness.

"What?" Wilson drew his eyebrows together in confusion and added matter-of-factly "You didn't kill anything. What are you talking about?" The confusion on his face turned into a complete bafflement.

"If knowing the diagnosis and doing nothing about it is not killing, I don't know what is." House put his hands to his temples and said brokenly, slumping even harder on the hard, cold floor. He closed his eyes, reliving the nightmare he just went through, and absentmindedly scratched his stubble, nervously pinching his skin in the process.

"It was a pulmonary embolism caused by a clotted PICC line. There is nothing you could have done." Wilson felt the need to state the obvious, knowing how much House hated it. Even though, for him, restraint taught and created opportunites, it also left things bottled up inside and emotions running astray. This time he decided to let the genie out of the bottle and put House in his place. "Stop playing God!"

House raised his sorrowful eyes and looked at his best friend bleakly, before saying, "My mother had it when she was carrying me. I should have known," he buried his hands in his hair and continued, under his breath, "I should have recognized it."

"Wait. What?" Wilson asked, his face softening for a moment as he saw the pain House was going through.

"The HG. My mom had it with me and I passed the genes on. Very chivalrous of me, don't you think?" House answered with a bitter, sarcastic smile and averted his eyes to the floor.

"Oh good grief, House. You gave the right diagnosis…" Wilson tried to reason with him as his face went from caring to irratation.

"Yeah, I did…" He mumbled quietly as he rubbed his thigh, "… but never followed through with my hunch. I could have saved …"

"Stop it! Stop torturing yourself." Wilson shouted in a plea as he took a step backwards towards the door.

"No!" House yelled after his best friend letting him know that he was not finished with him and that he still owed him some answers, "Tell me Wilson, what was it?"

"What was what?" A dumbfounded expression graced his face as he plainly added, "House, you are not making any sense."

"A boy or a girl?" House whispered finding it almost sacrilegious to raise his voice when mentioning his, now shameful, transgression, "I have the right to know."

"You have no right, House. None, until you tell Cuddy everything, and I mean everything, and if she decides you have the right, she will tell you." Without giving House a chance to protest, Wilson indignantly continued in the same rhythm, almost yelling, "I am not telling you. I am not feeding your sick, narcissistic misery and your self-inflicted pity!"

"You think you are better then me? You think your self-righteous ass will save this world from misery? I got news for you Jimmy! This world doesn't need sissies like you, it doesn't need your fucking approval!" Once started, House couldn't stop. He raved on and on. All his disappointment, hopelessness and anger poured out until the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach finally rose to his throat and he began to cough and choke on his substance-induced rage.

"You never needed my approval to hurt people, House. I am just wondering what I am still doing here. You never know, I might be next." He said, disappointed that House reduced himself to this state. Then, as if he remembered something, Wilson added giving House a much-needed jolt.

"You know what, forget it. Self-pity is easily the most destructive of the non-pharmaceutical narcotics; it is addictive, gives momentary pleasure and separates the victim from reality. And that's what you are, a miserable addict separated from reality."

Without saying a word, House picked up the diary from the floor and handed it over to Wilson, earmarking the page where Cuddy scribbled down her thoughts after they had a fight; the night she refused him. Wilson looked down and started reading, astonished by the fact that House had forced him to read Cuddy's diary. Against his principles.

_It's because of the fact that I can't marry you, because I can't hug the rare seasons of the seas and the fires that ripen in the memories of your skin, because you can't be my husband or my lover, or even the father of my child, because I must speak to you about the silences of my heart which are as ancient as its deepest scars made by dews and tears, silences that hold nothing and reveal nothing, its because I can't be you, and because one who has nothing to expect must love. I love you._

Wilson raised his heavy eyelids, feeling the weight of Cuddy's words in the air, and quickly decided not to go soft on House, even if that entailed saying some things he really didn't mean.

"Love hurts, House! Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I got news for you too, welcome to the fucking world. Deal with it!" Wilson recited in one breath angrily releasing all his frustration at House.

"But she picked the names…" House said childishly pointing to her diary

"Unfortunately for the children she will never have." Wilson stated seriously, suddenly getting House's full attention. With one slick move he stabbed the final verbal dagger into his mind, "Thanks to you."

"What?" House's finally voice gave out as his pale eyes grew larger, in sheer shock.

"She won't be able to have kids, House. Ever." Wilson stood in silence for a moment, while he closely examined House's ashen face, knowing that it would change to an even paler shade once the truth sunk in. "Think about it and tell me if you still have the right to anything. Stop being selfish and do something right, for once in your life."

With the last word he fumed out, Wilson turned around and headed for the door. A small piece of paper caught his attention, sitting on one of the dissection tables. He deliberately slowed down and, with unhidden curiosity, picked up a sonogram that had _L. Cuddy_ inscribed in the upper right corner. He studied it for a second and then turned to House, demonstratively holding the piece of paper between his fingers. Wilson made sure House was watching when he said,

"You're pathetic!" and then he walked away, without gracing House with as little as a goodbye, leaving him in a murky puddle of misery.

* * *

A/N Credit to Neil Gaiman for some wonderful pearls of wisdom that we unreservedly used to make this chapter interesting to you.


	25. At Cross Purposes

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 23~

House hobbled around the hospital hallways until he found her room. He lurked there, in silence, unable to muster the strength to enter, standing behind the corridor column, hurting, hiding, hoping no one would see him. When an ICU nurse hurriedly walked past him carrying the evening medication round, his reflexes proved that he was still alive whilst tugging her by her scrubs, barely managing to stay on his own feet. The nurse jumped in shock causing the medication cups to quiver on the plastic tray. House didn't waste any time on explanations and quickly asked, pointing to Cuddy's room,

"How is she doing?"

The nurse looked him in obvious exasperation, immediately recognizing the infamous diagnostician. "She hasn't woken up yet but the surgery went well, Dr. House." She said simply, avoiding any possible confrontation. Only when he slightly nodded, still looking over her shoulder towards Cuddy's room, she decided it was safe to leave.

He stood there, encouraged by the fact that Cuddy was still unconscious, and quickly decided that it was _then or never._ The human side of him miraculously outweighed his deflection demons as he slowly limped towards the glass door, pushed it gently and snuck inside.

He sat next to her bed and observed her pale but beautiful face graced by the dim light of her hospital room; thankfully, he told himself, at least she was breathing on her own. Without characteristically analyzing his actions, he reached for her hand and held it, gently rubbing his thumb across the delicate skin of her fingers, while looking down at her face. He wondered if he would ever be able to look her in the face without feeling the weight of the immense loss he had caused her; _would it ever fade away?_ he asked himself.

With his left hand he subconsciously arranged the blanket that lay limply over her body, making sure that she was tucked in properly, that she was not cold. Only when his shaky fingers reached her abdomen he became aware of his action. And reaction. He spread his digits, revealing the stigmatic purple scar on the back of his hand, and slowly pressed against her stomach; a small cry escaped his lips as he lowered his eyes and whispered, "I am sorry, Lisa. More than you will ever know." The same fingers that had felt his child come to life were now pressing against her empty womb and he despised himself more than he could ever imagine despising somebody.

_Cuddy refused to wake up. As the electric impulses of her neurological synapses increased their speed, and her brain started regaining consciousness, only one thought invaded her mind - the moment she spotted Dr. Richardson holding the oxygen mask before her, her stare full of compassion. She remembered being lain down, watching with desolation the surgery team getting prepared for the procedure, tears staining her face…as if no time had passed. She begged God to put the end to the excruciating pain that was crushing her soul, by taking her life away along with the baby's, so she would not have to deal with the remorse of having signed its death sentence. But she did, and the bitter reality was awaiting her. _

She slowly opened her eyes, to a world as empty and painful as her womb, and turned her head to the left feeling someone's hand holding hers. House's scruffy, unshaven and uncharacteristically hollow face and his unusually empty eyes showed up through a glistening, almost burning filter of her blurry vision. Mustering all of her strength and inhaling evenly, she focused on his eyes, until the blueness of his gaze gave her a cold shiver down her spine. Only then she managed to speak.

"Stop looking at me like that." She whispered, clearing her throat from the medical residue "I don't need your pity. Not yours, not anyone else's." The sapphire glow of his eyes, undoubtedly mistaken for disdain, pierced through her consciousness, filling her with panic.

"Cuddy, I am sorry." House said with utter uneasiness painfully averting his gaze. He was sure she could read him like an open book.

"Why would you be?" she asked petulantly "It was my baby. My life. My failure. You are the last person to have anything to do with it." Cuddy stressed each word, unaware how wrong she was, and pulled her hand out of House's forcing him to return his eyes back on her. She looked at him with cold, reflective curiosity.

"I have everything to do with it. I screwed up." House confessed, silently cursing himself.

"You did your job, House. You saved my life and that's what you are paid for. Don't pretend you care about my loss, it doesn't suit you." She quickly said as her lone little figure, full of remarkable yet plaintive grace, sunk against the white sheets of her hospital bed.

"It is my loss too, Lisa." He said, strongly believing in it and, at the same time, fearing a self-fulfilling prophecy that he would lose her over this.

Cuddy's eyebrows quickly arched in a questioning stare, searching his face for an answer, looking for his reasons to call her by the first name.

The infamous Dr Gregory House, known for his directness and crassness, bowed his head and took a deep breath. Confession was the first step to repentance.

"You know, donor number 715…" he started and then exhaled deeply, feeling his insides twisting and contorting.

Cuddy's innate ability to read House and her natural intelligence accentuated the uncomfortable silence between them. He knew that she had understood and that there was no need to finish off his sentence. Instead he calmly waited for his long overdue verdict.

"Oh God, you didn't?" she closed her eyes, in disbelief. The life drained out of her face all of a sudden. The delicate beauty of her gleaming eyes and quivering mouth quickly vanished as an uncontrollable scream froze on her face from the sudden realization. The air in her lungs felt like a caged, scared animal curled in the dark corners of her inner self, pressing against her sternum. She hysterically raised her left hand to her mouth, eyes widening in shock, and let a small, desperate cry.

"I switched the samples..." House admitted guiltily, lowering his eyes to the floor. His husky baritone barely whispered yet another _I'm sorry _and his entire being folded under her tangible and agonizing pain.

"You're sorry? For what? A palpable sarcasm was dripping out of her question as she fixated her eyes on his. He had a feeling that she was trying to kill him with her gaze.

"Lisa…" he said softly, regretting tremendously his inability to verbalize the feelings properly.

"For what, House? Answer me!" she raised her voice, demanding the answer with her entire being. When he didn't grace her with an answer, Cuddy continued the interrogation. "That it worked in the first place? That must have freaked you out, huh?" All her misery was in the words, her terror and her pain, her grief for her child, the burden of the secret that he had just confessed. Her mind raced as her heart threatened to make a leap out of her rib cage.

"Is that why you avoided me like a plague, why you couldn't look at me all these months? Were you disgusted?" Cuddy asked viciously, cringing at the very thought of it.

"God no, Lisa! How can you say that?" House asked loudly, furious at her mental construction.

"You couldn't deal with what you had done, you couldn't look at my growing stomach and face the consequences of your prank, could you?" Her heart was empty; her mind was full of doubt and hurt. The love and admiration she felt, all these years, for Gregory House came to an abrupt end. He ripped out her tender heart and stomped it deep into the ground. "I should have known not to trust you after you took so much joy in telling me I would have sucked as a mother." Cuddy said cruelly, finding the aching spots under his thick armor. "God, you are pathetic!"

"I've been hearing that a lot recently." House pointed out hopelessly, remembering what Wilson had said in the morgue.

"Get out of my face, House!" she screamed, feeling both emotionally and physically drained.

"That's not everything," House added, prolonging the conversation. He rubbed at his eyes, across his forehead, sighing harshly before looking down at his feet. He was acting like an idiot, he was an idiot... "I was right about the diagnosis, it was the HG." He finished matter-of-factly and again raised his eyes, to hers, squinting painfully under his eyelashes.

"I don't care about the damn diagnosis. Being right is your greatest curse." She cut him off before his unbearable childish naïveté could make her any angrier.

"It _is_ my fault." He insisted. "My mom had it when she was pregnant with me, I should have known." She looked at him, slicing the space between them with her dagger-sharp gaze, as he metaphorically attempted to spill his soul at her feet. "If I had trusted my hunch..."

Suddenly Cuddy started laughing. It was a shriek, a mad laugh like the clatter of dishes and it was over as quickly as it began.

"What you're laug..." he started, unnervingly shocked by her hysterical laugh. She interrupted him mid-sentence, sending chills down his spine.

"It was your little revenge, wasn't it? Payback time for your leg? Just like you were reminded every day, by looking at me, that you would never be able to walk normally I will be reminded, by looking at you, what I will never have." Cuddy said, spitting venom with each uttered word. She wrapped her mind tightly around the idea of his revenge and was not letting go until she verbally assaulted every inch of his being. She was more than certain that he had deserved it.

"You waited all these years, cunningly planning and plotting your little reprisal. Congratulations, House. You've done it." Her breathing was heavy and strenuous as she pointed to the glass door, adding coldly, "Now get the hell out of my room. I don't want to see you! Ever!"

"But you love me?" he said with almost childish innocence, relying heavily on hope or some sort of universal justice, as he reached over to his chair and picked up her diary. He frantically worked through the pages until he found what he had been looking for and extended his hand, showing her the backup for his claims. He looked at her eyes, then back at the diary, alternating his confused gaze between the two, almost telepathically willing her to admit it. But instead saving his soul she saved her own dignity. The price he had to pay was too high.

"If there was, ever, anything between you and me…" she inhaled deeply, tears rapidly collecting in her eyes "…it _died_ just three hours ago." She said icily, creating an eerie chill in House's heart as she referred to both her feelings and her lost baby, which incidentally shared half of his genes. She jerked her diary out of his shaky hands and started crying, tears burning her face as they rolled off of her cheeks.

House approached her with an honest attempt of trying to ease her pain by offering his touch, his comforting embrace but she rejected him, this time forever.

"You bastard! How could you?" Cuddy hit him in the chest, yelling in agony. "Get out of here," she demanded, shattering the last remnants of hope; the remnants House desperately clutched onto. "Get the hell out!" With the last outburst of rage she threw the diary at him, mentally determined to erase him out of her life.

"No! Lisa, please, listen to me…" with the last ounces of strength House was begging her to give him one last chance. His voice was full of raw emotions and sincere repentance as the liquid quiver started building up in his throat.

"Get out, House! I can't look at you. It's too painful. Now, whenever I see your face, I will imagine what his face would have looked like. His smile..."she said honestly, creating a lucid yet torturing image in her mind. Her heart started bleeding as she added, "I am pretty certain he would have had your smile and that smug smirk. I can't do this. Get out!"

House brokenly exited her room, carrying the heaviness of that scene on his shoulders, and pressed his forehead against the first available wall he found. The last couple of words she managed to say before kicking him out yanked his heart out with surgical precision… _his_ _face, his smile_…House kept repeating to himself as his head burrowed deeper and deeper in the crook of his elbow. Then, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He slowly turned around and noticed Wilson standing there, nervously awaiting his friend to open up to him. If anything, House could always count on Wilson's impeccable timing.

"I need a drink." House said miserably, implying that Wilson should help him drink himself to oblivion. Wilson quietly nodded in approval. When the oncologist turned to leave, expecting his best friend to follow him, he heard a broken sob behind him.

"Wilson, I killed my son." House said covering his eyes with his left hand, the image of his son's name dancing in front of his closed eyes. _Dylan Emanuel_. That tiny creature was his chance out of misery, his chance to prove himself and the rest of the world he was a better man than his own father. Yet, in that moment, the truth could not be farther away and House had to learn to live with another failure. "And I lost her. Forever." House bowed his head, staring emptily at the floor.

"No man is infallible, House." Wilson said indisputably and placed his hand on House's back, urging him to move and, at the same time, showing him that he still had a friend. "The deepest defeat suffered by human beings is constituted in the difference between what one was capable of becoming and what one has in fact become." Wilson pursed his lips together, thinking, and quickly added his trademark advice. "You have to figure out the last one."


	26. House of Cards Part I

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 24~

_Sharrie's Bar, an hour later_

House and Wilson arrived at the bar at ten in the evening, a light rain coating the pavement with moisture. Although the street lighting helped them find their way, it was already extremely dark from the choking gray clouds overhead. House thought that this was a perfectly apt setting for the day and the night ahead as he raised his eyes to the sky through the windshield glass. They exited his car in utter silence, without glancing at each other. Wilson shook his head and walked into the bar, picking the first available booth. When they both finally sat down, he looked at House and extended his hand, verbally demanding,

"House, give me your car keys," Wilson wiggled his fingers, motioning to House that he was not letting him drive in that state.

"He told me, Jim. I didn't believe him," House said, with a threatening dose of seriousness, while searching his pockets for car keys. When he found them, he absentmindedly placed them on the table looking hopelessly at his hands.

"What on earth are you talking about? Who told you what?" Wilson asked, drawing his eyebrows together and removing the keys from House's reach. With his other hand he waived to get the waitress' attention.

"My father; well, the man I thought was my father," House explained, clearly exhaling the pain that had accumulated in his chest, "He told me I would be just like him someday."

"When did he say that?" Wilson said, attempting to keep the conversation going while ordering them two pints of the Russian Imperial stout, with another two soon to follow. _Russian Imperial stout is a strong dark beer with a high alcohol content of nine or ten percent._

"That summer I told you about, when I was 12. I yelled at him that I was glad for not being related to him and he said that I couldn't run away from myself." House grabbed his beer from the waitress' tray, guzzled a good amount, and flopped back in his seat, nervously slouching his manly figure at the same time, "He said that I was already him, just hadn't figured it out yet."

"Is that what you think? That you are him?" Wilson asked worryingly, somehow sympathizing with him. It was then and there Wilson realized how deep and how rooted had been House's pain and that he, more than anything else, needed a friend; someone to be there for him no matter what.

"No. I'm worse. He didn't kill his son." House bent his head slightly and looked at the glass trying to reach the bottom with his gaze, hiding his eyes from his best friend. "I am a living, miserable proof of it." He mumbled and raised his beer to his lips.

"House, you didn't kill anybody. It was a coincidence." Wilson tried to reason with him but reasoning was always a dead end with House. He simply got his own mental process to follow, and until he reached that well-known and worked-in trail, he was restless.

"I don't believe in coincidences. It's not rational." House replied characteristically while slowly sipping on the vile brew. His world would implode if he had to give up reason and rationality.

"Definition, rationality, and structure are ways of seeing, but they become prisons when they blank out the other ways of seeing. Sometimes you have to accept things as they are. Without logic. Without rationalization. And you have to let go." Wilson urged him knowing well enough that reason and alcohol didn't go hand in hand, in the first place.

"She will not let go," House whispered brokenly curling his fingers tighter around the glass in front of him.

"She will. In time. You have to give her time to process everything that has just happened." His friend suggested knowingly; if anybody he was an expert in women and their thinking processes. Wilson was, after all, competent in giving advice; what he lacked was the courage and will to apply it on himself.

"She hates me. Hell, I hate myself." He said realizing that what hundreds of his enemies had tried to accomplish had easily been done to him, the infamous Gregory House, by the frankness of one woman's delicious yet poisonous mouth. The echo of her words still resonated in his ears, calling for another hefty gulp of beer.

"Self-conceit leads to self destruction, House," Pearls of wisdom rolled off Wilson's tongue as he took a sip of his beer.

"I don't care. She was right, Jim. Everything we ever had is gone now. I singlehandedly and masterfully destroyed it. Self destruction pales in comparison to that." House finished his all his pints and placed the claim on Wilson's second drink, dragging it closer.

"You have to earn her trust back." Wilson said simply, watching House devour the third pint.

"How do you earn something back when it doesn't exist to start with?" House asked slowly as if each word he pronounced carried a weight of its own; was it the pain or his sheer drunkenness, he couldn't differentiate.

"You start from scratch. What appears to be the end may really be a new beginning." Wilson said, strongly believing that new beginnings were a treasure since they always brought along the opportunity to use what one had learned in the past, therefore bringing the opportunity to do things better.

"I don't do beginnings. I don't do change. Nobody ever should. Change is evil." House stuttered and mumbled as his uncontrollable spit covered the table in front of him with little drops. He raised his jacket sleeve and wiped his mouth before continuing. "Change has brought me here and I never wanted this. I never wanted to feel this way; about her or anything else. I was perfectly fine with my life before all this."

"Why did you do it then?" Wilson crossed his arms at his chest and inquisitively arched his eyebrows, preparing the next set of heavy artillery questions. "Why did you give her a piece of yourself when you knew you were not getting it back? When you knew it was going to make you change, eventually?"

"I wanted her to be happy." House stated simply as the image of Cuddy, glowing in her maternal bliss, danced in front of his blood-shot eyes. Wilson sensed that his friend's gaze was lost beyond the impeding reality yet he still focused his gaze across the table.

"Don't you think you deserve to be happy?" The young doctor asked, fearing the answer he already knew.

"No." House said forcefully, cutting the air between them with a two-letter negation. "I am a cursed man. Everything I touch, I destroy." House buried his head in his hands, pressing his palms violently against his forehead. He miserably believed in his own words.

"So not true." Wilson extended his hand and touched House's, hoping to transmit some of his optimism through their contact. "Your profession begs to differ. You save lives, not destroy them."

"Yet, I destroyed hers. Forever. One life that actually meant something to me." As he squeezed the words in realization House felt broken, shattered beyond repair, pieces of his heart bleeding and torn. Shaking his head to clear it of his confusion, he looked around him, tryig to find one reason, one explanation for it all, but nothing around him in the crowded and cheery bar offered the answer to his silent question, _why_?

He had always been able to withstand the loss and pain, the hurt and disillusionment thrown at him over the years but guilt of knowing that he had ruined her life would be too much to bear.

A man standing above them noticed House's despair and simply asked, with a hint of menace in his voice, "I was right about you, wasn't I? What did you do this time, kill someone?"

House quickly focused his eyes on the man and added sarcastically as he recognized the intruder. "Oh, detective Tritter. I would say it's a pleasure but really it isn't. No need to keep pretenses." He added mockingly before starting his characteristic interrogation. "Are you here trying to catch a brand new and disgusting STD so I can treat you again? Because my rectal thermometer really misses you." House finally added with a cynical chuckle, under his breath.

"I will refrain from using your medical services, Dr. House," Tritter announced simply, adding an eerie buzz to his next statement. "I am afraid I can't trust your judgment."

"I'm drunk, and high," House pulled out his Vicodin bottle and washed two pills with the remaining beer in his glass and focused, inquisitively on the detective, "What's keeping you from arresting me?" Somehow going to prison that night didn't matter to him at all. He already felt like a caged animal in his own skin.

"Whatever is it that you did; it already got you locked up in the worst of all prisons - your own conscience. I'm just surprised; I never thought you had one." Tritter's demeanor was insulting as he coldly snapped at House whose eyes grew larger and more shocked with each uttered syllable.

In his despair, House arched his head back. A scream of unearthly animal torment was torn from his throat. With one swift yet unsteady motion, he got up and tried to punch Tritter in his face but the cop successfully dogded it cashing in on the sober and therefore better reflexes. House wobbled forward while Tritter enjoyed his long awaited minute of gloating.

Wilson didn't know what sort of mean or malicious drive House had in his head that night that made him think he was going anywhere by hitting a cop, but his indifference about consequences that night was more than palpable. He quickly stood up and locked his arms across House's chest, preventing him to thrust forward and do more damage.

Tritter noticed that getting arrested was exactly what House wanted and condescendingly remarked, overly enjoying his moment of glory and satisfaction. "I'm not arresting you, Dr. House. I'm not ruining my perfectly enjoyable evening so you can get away with your stupidity and ease your conscience. Not today." With an evil smile of content Tritter showed his hands into his pockets and walked away.

House's eyes narrowed as he wiggled in Wilson's arms, in an attempt to free himself and hobble after Tritter. "Let go of me, Jimmy! I wanna punch that smug son of a bitch!" House demanded as he pressed harder against Wilson's arms, aware of the fact that Tritter was already gone. Wilson's grip tightened and he literally screamed in his ear, while the many bystanders curiously watched in anticipation,

"If you don't give a damn about your freedom House, at least consider mine, because if you start a bar fight I will have no choice but stand up for you and your pride, and I really don't feel like spending the night in jail and being prosecuted for hitting a cop. So shut the hell up and drink, because that's why we're here for." With the last words he said, and as House's fierce muscle spasms subsided, Wilson literally dragged him back to their booth. But instead of sitting, House finished off his drinks standing, gulping the alcohol in, what seemed, uncontrollable streams. Then, like going through one of his trademark epiphanies, he decided it was time to leave.

Wilson grabbed him underarm and attempted to create some sort of balance to keep them both on their feet. As they stepped on the sidewalk with the bar owner escorting them out, House broke the contact with Wilson in one energetic jolt which, eventually, sent him flying face-forward on the floor. His cane dropped with a large thud on the concrete pavement, creating a disturbing sound in the creepy silence of that night. Wilson quickly kneeled by his best friend's side, trying to asses the extent of physical damages.

House rolled on his back and closed his eyes as the blood gushed out of his lower lip which he bit as he fell down. Wilson shook his head at the absurdity of the situation House ended up in as he tried to shake off the tears in his own eyes. That was it; that was the moment that breeched Wilson's emotional threshold and he felt his friend's sorrow descend on his own chest. He inhaled deeply, barely containing a sob, and slid his hand under House's head, lifting it slightly off of the pavement. With the other hand he wiped his tears off and said, with a humorous attempt,

"Men have a gene which makes them blissfully unaware of impending emotional outbursts, but which sometimes backfires, resulting in the registering of physical pain."

House opened his eyes. The brisk air hit his nostrils in a fat rush. It did little to change his mood or the loud thudding in his head. The bad taste, now mixing with blood, still resonated on the pulp of his tongue as he was thinking about Cuddy and their earlier conversation. His shame was in the wind that cut his silhouette. And that was all he became, a silhouette.

"Let's get you home," Wilson said mildly as he waived the cab down and, subsequently, asked the cab driver to help him get his best friend in the back seat. It was going to be a long weekend

* * *

_**That weekend**__, while Wilson was collecting the remnants of House's wounded pride, spoon-feeding him chicken noodle soup at his apartment, and tending to his cut and swollen lower lip with medical expertise. _

Cuddy reasoned that it would be detrimental for her to sit and cry all day and she decided to be strong; to continue with her life rather than succumb to her grief. Although she had not perceived herself as a very strong person, after the loss and her subsequent release from hospital she adopted the philosophy to take things as they come and deal with the challenges, handling situations as they arose. Little did she know that her incredible, newfound strength wasn't coming from within but from the hefty amounts of bourbon and Valium pills.

Yet, while she appeared strong to herself and kept the daily routine busy, sorting the paperwork and working on house chores, she was aware that her inner feelings were not congruent with this perception. Deep down she was very weak, both physically and emotionally, and this reality was reflected in her physical appearance. Her skin lost its shine and tone, her blue eyes lost its depth, and the red-rimmed yet dangerously dark bags under her eyes only testified to her countless sleep-deprived nights. Her struggle for air came in violent, strained gasps as she failed to realize that she was wearing her loss like a curse.

Although other people were a significant part of her life, Cuddy decided to avoid sharing her deeper emotions with those who mattered the most to her; after all, the one who mattered the most, whether she'd like to admit it or not, was the direct source of her grief and sorrow. Through some sort of epiphany, Cuddy was determined to hide her feelings and maintain a façade, and greet the world with the best smile she had; a best-practiced, artificial smile, that is.

With that in mind, she decided to light a seven day candle for her lost boy and prepare for work; she was sure that keeping a busy schedule and dealing with non-related issues would get her mind off of her emotional distress. She convinced herself, by mentally yielding to more bourbon and Valium, that work would cure all her ailments forgetting to consult the doctor within.

Nobody in their right mind would ever disobey doctor's orders when it came to recuperating from a pulmonary embolism. The average resting and healing period after a pulmonary angiography and subsequent catheter extraction was seven days; anything shorter than that had a statistically greater chance of postoperative complications and prolonged hospitalization, including the unfavorable outcome.

Cuddy, the wounded, human being, blocked the information from Cuddy, the rational doctor in her brain and decided to come back to work only two and a half days after she had been discharged from hospital.


	27. House of Cards Part II

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 25~

**Monday morning, PPTH**

Cuddy hurriedly walked in, knowing that she was twenty minutes late yet refusing to feel guilty about it, and stopped by the nurses' station to get the latest information. The powerful clatter of her way-too-high Jimmy Cho stilettos had every head in the lobby turning; just like her brand new two-piece black Armani suit that screamed power, competence and ambition. She walked in, confident, with her head held high, so obviously ready to resume her old job and with no tolerance or threshold for protests or whining. The _Iron Maiden_ was back in the house, just this time colder than ever. The only evidence that she was still a human being was the cloud of perfume that followed her around like the most faithful cohort but even her choice in perfume that morning was designed to make a statement; _Pure Poison_ by Christian Dior. And she was ready to deliver it to everybody who stood in her way, both professionally or personally.

The head nurse informed her that there had been a bus crash on the Garden State Parkway and that half of the patients had been transferred to PPTH, and the other half to Princeton General. Cuddy nodded in understanding, wearing her most businesslike expression, and headed over to her office. Her PA, Michelle, was already at her desk and Cuddy quickly asked the girl to take her briefcase and jacket, and bring her the white lab coat. She was personally going to evaluate the extent of crisis in the ER.

When she walked into the ER, swinging her hips dangerously and looking at her wrist watch in the process, she found one doctor and seven nurses working on thirty or so patients. Cuddy's head started spinning in rage and disappointment at how _her_ hospital had been run while she was gone. She knew it was going to be a horrible day and that there were many things she would have to sacrifice at the altar of her hospital. What she didn't know was that one of the many things sacrificed, by the end of the day, would be her own soul.

"What the hell happened to continuous integrated triage, people?" Cuddy asked harshly, her voice screaming with intolerance for stupidity, causing every single head in the ER to turn towards her.

"You!" Cuddy pointed with her index finger to the closest nurse, cleverly maneuvering her small yet powerful frame through the maze of patients and medical equipment on the way. "Come here and start the triage tagging." Her demanding voice was sharp, brisk and threatening, but the subtle fragility of her struggling breath could only be detected by those who knew her really well. "Who is in charge here?" The words lashed out of her like a tip of a whip crackling in the static-saturated air.

"Dr. Cameron." The new ER resident, Dr. Gray, replied without lifting his head from the patient he was attending.

"Where is she? She should be with her patients!" Cuddy asked, slightly raising her voice, and turned around several times around her axis, making herself dizzy before adding, visibly upset, "For the love of God, we have a crisis here."

"I am here, Dr. Cuddy," Cameron announced in her bubbly manner and sincerely added, "Didn't know you were back." Her sparkling personality was revealed by her innocent yet beautiful smile as she approached the wounded beast in hiding and greeted her cheerfully.

"Poor excuse for not doing your job. What, you skipped your classes on triage in medical school?" The omnipotent administrator asked sarcastically, raising one eyebrow and thus mimicking the medieval Spanish Inquisition.

"I was just…" Cameron started offering her explanation but her boss sharply and intolerantly cut in.

"Save it." Cuddy raised her left hand, physically preventing Cameron from speaking, and asked even more impatiently, looking around the ER. "Where are the other doctors?"

"They are with House, his patient…" Cameron said defensively as she looked around at some of the injured patients nearby.

"Well, unless _he _is dying, I want them all here. Stat!" Cuddy impatiently screamed into Cameron's face, pointing to the floor with her finger which added urgency to her demands. Cameron simply raised her eyebrows, slouched her hands in the lab coat pockets and turned to leave, figuring that there was no point arguing with a screaming, hormonal woman who happened to be her boss. However, Cuddy's toxic tongue made Cameron turn around in shock as the paralyzed breathing crept back in her throat. Cuddy made a tilting head movement, sizing her employee from head to toe and maliciously added, implying indecent behavior. "And button up your shirt and close off your lab coat, you look cheap. No wonder you couldn't be found during the crisis."

Short on words yet perfectly capable of defending herself, Cameron pulled Cuddy by her arm, and literally dragged her into the closest corner, to the absolute amusement of the hospital staff. Hell, if the twenty or so pairs of curious eyes hadn't been watching, she would have dragged Cuddy by her hair.

"How dare you!" Cuddy screeched like a wounded hyena, still fighting for air in her lungs.

"Just because you are buttoned up like a righteous freak-show Mother Theresa, it doesn't mean you can judge others. Quit the pills and the booze, Dr. Cuddy." Cameron spewed her words in one angry outburst and then decided to tone it down, a little bit. She wanted to make sure that the conversation remained private. "It really shows. It not only affects you physically but it also clouds your judgment."

"Keep your tongue in its place, Allison. It's none of your goddamn business." Cuddy replied viciously as the raging fire of her humiliation splashed across her ice-cold, porcelain face. It would have been an understatement to call Cuddy furious; she was royally pissed.

"It actually is my business, and you know why, Lisa?" Cameron cleverly used her first name to appeal to her personally and emotionally. "Because since the first day I met you here, I admired you as a professional and as a woman, and decided I would do my best to follow in your footsteps. And now, I can't even recognize you anymore." And that was the truth. Only an empty, bitter shell remained of that imperial Cuddy she had known and highly esteemed.

"You know what?" Cuddy crossed the arms at her chest in defense, as if protecting herself from the truth that had undoubtedly come out of Cameron's mouth. "I am not the same person any more. Deal with it!" The lack of oxygen in her lungs made Cuddy struggle for air, yet she employed all her physical power to hide it from Cameron; it would have been weakness in her eyes and Cuddy hated appearing weak and fragile in front of people.

"I'll accept it. For now. But by accepting it you are forcing me to believe that you've become just like House. Bitter and miserable. That, I refuse to believe." Cameron turned and walked away leaving Cuddy with her mouth open. Cameron's remark scored, and the telltale flush crept to Cuddy's ivory-frosted cheeks before she could lower her lashes and conceal the painful discomfort.

Cuddy made a small, helpless shrug and walked over to the first critical patient that had been tagged, a seven year old girl with a compound tibia fracture, and started assessing the situation, while at the same time fishing for her cell phone.

She wrapped her cold, shaky fingers around the cell phone in her pocket and pulled it out quickly. Then she dialed a familiar number, simultaneously trying to calm the little girl in front of her. "Dr. Wilson, good morning, yes, this is Dr. Cuddy. Could you please advise the Board that I will be running late for the meeting this morning?" She said hastily, patting the child on her head and removing stubborn blonde curls from her face. "No. I am fine. I am actually back to work but there is a medical emergency in the ER that I need to attend to." She exhaled deeply and quickly added, before hanging up, "Yes. Thank you." Then she focused back on the little patient in front of her.

"Hey." Cuddy said gently, almost maternally. "What is your name?" She asked the little brave girl, amazed at her calmness given the grave injuries.

"Lisa." The girl whispered, still in shock.

"How cool is that? My name is Lisa, too." Cuddy said bubbly, allowing herself to smile sincerely for the first time in the last four days. She lifted her medical chart and meticulously documented the necessary treatment which would include a surgery and post-op physical therapy. However, she was confident that the kid would be fine, so she added,

"You, the girl with the most beautiful name in the world, will be fine. A very good doctor will take care of your leg and soon enough, you'll be like new. Deal?" Cuddy tilted her head and focused on the girl's beautiful green eyes with great interest.

"Deal." She squeaked happily, ignoring the pain in her small leg, and then shyly added peaking under her long eyelashes. "You are so cool, Dr. Lisa. I want to be a doctor like you one day."

"And you will." Cuddy said softly with a lot of encouragement in her voice and set down next to her, taking both of her hands in hers. The familiar maternal instincts in her stirred as she kindly requested, "But promise me you'll do well in school first."

"I promise." Little Lisa chirped as she looked at the doctor in awe. She slowly raised her small hands and asked directly, locking her big, green eyes with Cuddy's. "Can I hug you?"

"Sure, sweets." Cuddy leaned forward and hugged her gently, delightfully surprised how quickly little Lisa's head found the crook of her neck. When the little girl calmed in her arms a small tide of pain invaded her heart, reminding her that she would never hold her own daughter like that. Without further subjecting herself to this emotional torture, Cuddy slowly drew away from the girl, stroked her hair lightly and bid her a quick goodbye, reassuring her that she would be OK.

Moments earlier, House silently limped into the ER, and even more silently crossed his arms and leaned against a wall observing Cuddy's interaction with the little girl in sheer admiration, the corner of his lips curling in pride. _She was so natural_, he thought to himself and wished he could take back all those hurtful remarks he made about her being a lousy mother. He would gladly eat each single syllable he uttered if that would erase the pain from her face and her eyes; the pain that he had just witnessed.

Spinning around, Cuddy opened a cabinet in front of her and reached inside, pulling some charts out. Then, with masterful skill and precision, she stopped a nurse in her tracks and ordered, pointing to the little girl, "Please inform Dr. Chase and his surgical team that this child needs immediate surgery." Cuddy's lips tightened as she noticed deliberation and fear on the nurse's small, oval face.

"I am afraid, Dr. Cuddy that all ORs are full at the moment." The young nurse whispered with great reservation, fearing the demonic wrath that could be easily unleashed on her.

"This is what happens when hospital staff doesn't follow the rules of triage." Cuddy hissed like a cobra and extended her the medical files. "Give these to Dr. Chase and tell him that I ordered him to find an alternative immediately and operate on this girl. Or he will be looking for a new job, soon. Go!" The young girl jumped in fear and ran down the hallway as fast as her limp legs could carry her.

"Everybody else, listen up! Here is the first lesson in triage, for all of you who missed that class in school." Cuddy approached little Lisa's bed and pointed to her injured leg, raising her voice so every member of the ER personnel heard her loud and clear. "Open fractures require immediate surgery to clean the area of the injury. Because of the break in the skin, debris and infection can travel to the fracture location, and lead to a high rate of infection in the bone. Once the infection is established, it can be a difficult problem to solve. Treatment of established bone infections often requires multiple surgeries, prolonged antibiotic treatment, and long-term mobility problems." She winced at the prospect of this little girl limping in the future or having any permanent damage from this fraction. It seemed like leg injuries were her ultimate curse.

"That is why this girl should have been the first in line of treatment." Cuddy inhaled painfully, pressing her chest slightly above her heart, and added in a high-pitched and administrator-pissed voice, until her lungs almost gave out on her. "Well I guess I might finish today's lecture with some prospect consequences. Anyone coming late to work…" she looked at Cameron, electricity sparking in her eyes, and rolled the deadliest venom across her tongue, "…or not sticking with START or CIT procedures in the future will have to limp home after I am done with them. Is that clear?"

Only when she uttered the last word, and everybody sheepishly nodded at her question, she saw him looking at her inquisitively, blue eyes scorching her delicate skin; in that moment she realized what she had said. Cuddy defiantly lifted her chin, pursing her lower lip, and strolled past him, ever gently brushing off of his sleeve like a sulking eight-year-old. If the situation wasn't as gloomy and difficult between them as it presented itself, he would have found it extremely amusing; however, somewhere deep down under his skin it made his heart skip a tiny beat.


	28. House of Cards Part III

Disclaimer - We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 26~

_**After the Board meeting in Cuddy's office. Wilson hurriedly followed Cuddy in.** _

"I observed you the entire meeting." Wilson announced as he closed the door behind him.

"Really? His boss asked in a fake surprise, her back still turned to him. "I thought you were supposed to pay attention to the staffing changes we made. Silly me!" Cuddy rolled her eyes very quickly, is a classic sign of intolerable annoyance, and threw her briefcase on the nearby couch spinning around on her heels to face Wilson. Then she crossed her arms defensively and lifted her chin, drawing the line of authority between them, almost daring him to cross it with her cold glare.

"You're having trouble breathing. Cameron was right." Wilson squeezed his eyes skeptically as he noticed Cuddy's strained gasps. Her behavior threw him off balance for a brief second but then he instantly remembered how stubborn the woman if front of him was. A female version of his beloved best friend.

"And you two are having trouble minding your own business and leaving me alone. Why don't you go ask her where I suggested her to keep her advice? The same location applies to you too." She said it with the ice in her voice more keen that the edge of a surgical knife. She was so determined to hurt the young oncologist as if that represented hurting House for some inexplicable reason.

"You came back too soon, Lisa. You should have stayed home recovering like your doctor told you to. Why are you doing this to yourself?" Her longtime friend asked compassionately, clearly concerned for her health.

"Nobody tells me to do anything. Especially not _my_ doctor." Cuddy hissed through her clenched teeth, as she looked straight into Wilson's eyes. "And this hospital needs me." Deep down in her, the uncontrollable fear and insecurity were her prisoners. She sensed that those prisoners inside put up a moan, and assaulted her ears with demands to open the gate, to let them out. Sooner or later she would have to comply with their wishes.

"This hospital had Aaron, and yet you threw him out." Wilson pointed out matter-of-factly, remembering how she treated the poor soul in front of everybody and his pale face when he realized he was out of job.

"Which part of _this hospital needs me_ didn't you understand?" Cuddy said cynically and Wilson could swear that her porcelain face was about to crack from all the coldness she was diffusing through her pores.

"Excellent disguise, House." Wilson responded, attempting to add some comic relief to the gloomy atmosphere that suddenly enveloped them; but more that anything he tried to provoke her reaction.

A cold shudder ran through her body at the mention of his name, rendering her speechless. Cuddy glanced away, over Wilson's shoulder, and focused distantly on an imaginary object. Her body was taut and on the edge, her thoughts were no better, and she secretly hoped she could escape the tormenting yet proverbial visions of him that followed her around, like a conscience soaked in guilt.

"I'm not giving up on trying to help you, so you know." Wilson winced at the coated frost of her words, the edge in her posture and the hurt in her eyes, and he moved over to her offering both his physical and emotional support. But her guard was already up on the defensive.

"Really? Too bad, because I've already given up on listening to you. Long ago. And go do your clinic duty unless you'd like to join your best friend in cutting out food coupons." Cuddy's despair was palpable as was her anger. Wilson felt trapped, uneasy, and almost coerced by her attempts to completely, both physically and emotionally, distance herself from everyone that cared for her. Yet, he resisted, for her own good.

"Did you cut House's paycheck?" Wilson asked visibly shocked. His eyes widened as he focused on his boss. All of a sudden Cuddy seemed like a stranger to him, a new acquaintance of sorts, and he observed her curiously, wondering by what transitions she had reached her present pitch.

"Thirty percent." Cuddy affirmed with a vicious gloat in her voice and added, delivering yet another professional threat, "I did, and I intend to do the same to every employee in this hospital who insists on lingering around me instead of doing their job."

"Thirty percent, plus the inventory damages from the ER and the morgue?" Wilson asked, clearly remembering her motion at the Board meeting. His voice was palpably coated with an unpleasant surprise as he tried to understand Cuddy's ulterior motives.

"Yes. Why does that surprise you?" She raised her eyebrows very slightly and waited, overly confident that Wilson had a point to make. There was always that twisted pitch at the end of his sentences, accompanied by a small head tilt, when he wanted to make a point.

"He did it because of you, Lisa." Wilson said slowly and softly, trying to convince her with his gaze of the truthfulness of his word. But this new Lisa refused to budge an inch.

"No, James. He did it because he couldn't solve the puzzle. The same selfish reasons that drive him insane everyday." She furiously bit her lower lip and lowered her gaze as if to justify her next sentence. "I am not qualified to deal with his insanity. You can refer him to the psych ward for all I care." Then she slowly wrapped her right arm across Wilson's back, urging him to move, and at the same time indicating that she wanted him to leave. Then with a small force she pushed him towards the door still feeling guilty about her last sentence.

He turned around in the doorway, locking his gaze on hers, making sure that she understood what he was about to say, "Lisa, one of our greatest weakness lies in giving up. The most certain way to succeed is always to try just one more time. Don't give up on him."

"James. Wait." Cuddy inhaled deeply before delivering the question that had bugged her all along, drawing her eyebrows together, "You knew?" In that moment of overwhelming sorrow and complete bewilderment, she felt her voice quiver as her shaky hand unintentionally flew to her lips.

"Yes, but it wasn't my story to tell." Wilson said as he closed the door behind him, leaving the uttered words to resonate in Cuddy's ears like African tribal drums.

Cuddy touched her chest, before sitting in her chair and burying her head in her palms. "Michelle, could you get me a cup of strong coffee…" Cuddy said as lungs scrabbled for breath, but she desperately tried to hide it. "…yes, straight black, and no sugar. Yes, thank you. And the last Board meeting's minutes, please."

Minutes later her assistant hurriedly walked in but Cuddy's attention remained on the computer screen. "Here you go Dr. Cuddy." Michelle efficiently placed the coffee and the files in front of her, and only when Cuddy raised her eyes over her reading glasses to thank her, Michelle added, "This also came in for you earlier this morning…" the assistant pointed to a package she had placed on one of the office chairs, and sheepishly asked "…I hope you don't mind that I brought it in?"

Cuddy looked at the label on the box and her face immediately lost all color. _Carter's_. The mix-up order she completely forgot about, finally arrived. As the world around her imploded, the time suddenly stopped.

Cuddy sat perfectly still, staring at Michelle. But she didn't see her. She saw nothing. Trapped in the ice of shock, the pain was dormant. She narrowed her eyes and let the blood surge desperately through her veins until it dissonantly screamed in her ears. Her heart clenched as her uterus knotted painfully against her pelvis. Realization hit her hard and she felt the first real stab of pain. Seconds later Cuddy heard a soft, despairing cry without realizing it was hers; a cry of a mother that had lost her child.

"Dr. Cuddy, is there anything else I can get you?" Michelle offered helplessly, visibly touched and endlessly guilty for being the one to bring her boss such a painful reminder of her inconsolable loss.

Cuddy motioned, barely moving her shaky hand, for her assistant to leave possibly without saying a word. Michelle humbly complied and tiptoed out, leaving her boss in the eerie silence of her office. Once alone, Cuddy reached for the box and slowly pulled out a small, white garment specifically designed for her newborn, with the funky kid's script scribbled across it now staring at her like a premonition: _Mommy's Little Angel_. Sometimes you just had to watch what you wished for, she said to herself as the painful realization nested itself in her brain. Her baby boy, her angel was now in Heaven, indeed.

"Oh, God!" Cuddy let out an agonizing screech as an invisible hand squeezed her heart through its iron-tight grip, leaving it to falter to death. Then the tears came, pouring out of her heart and soul like a mountain river that had just broken the sturdiest dam. She choked on them, feeling the salty poison build up in her throat, totally oblivious to her surroundings and the fact that the blinds were not shut. She finally released her true feelings, the pent up anger, sorrow and distress that she had suppressed for the past 3 days. Cuddy failed to recognize that they had started eating her alive, chipping pieces of her like the deadliest vulture.

* * *

House uneasily stood in front of her office, motionlessly lingering in his deliberation whether to enter or not. Cuddy's head was buried in her palms and he waited for her to raise her eyes to him, to silently tell him it was all right to enter. As in a parallel universe, he relived his shameless confession in his mind, for the hundredth time that day.

He hadn't left her hospital room in anger. It would have been easier for him if that had been the case. He had left because Cuddy asked him to, because she demanded it. He didn't blame her, and that too made it impossibly frustrating. Why should she listen to him, or understand? There had been enough truth in what she had flung at him to make the rest difficult to overturn. He had lied, or at the very least, he hadn't been honest. To Cuddy, one was the same as the other.

He had hurt her. He had put that look of helpless despair on her face. That was unforgivable. House pushed his long, lean fingers through his disheveled hair and quickly closed the distance between his body and the door knob, wrapping his shaky fingers around it in fear. Damn it, if she had only listened to him! If she had only given him a moment. He stepped back, refusing to remove his eyes from her little fragile figure and silently cursed himself.

When she lifted her teary eyes to him, slightly shocked to see him standing there, she quickly wiped her eyes and her cheeks, attempting to hide her sorrow, her grief, her ultimate weakness. As they stared at each other, their souls silently embracing one another, Cuddy purposefully restrained herself from biting her lower lip nervously. She held her breath in anticipation.

He saw her tears building up just before they were going to fall down her already stained cheeks. He witnessed the despair painted on her face as she pressed the little baby clothes against her chest but _Lisa Cuddy_ was still beautiful, he had to grant that out of fairness to the universe. The bridge of her nose was still like porcelain, her clavicles, damn it, still jutted out like a delicate French violin clef and she still wore that pale, almost livid expression of a princess with no kingdom that he would have died for in the prehistoric days. He could still see the wind in the depths of her eyes and there he knew, as he had always known, that he would have turned every aspect of his life upside down all over again, all of it, to see those little, amazing dots in her eyes dance again.

The weight of her sorrow and profound agony descended onto his clouded mind, and no matter how much he told himself it had been his fault all along, House always lacked the courage to make that first significant step. Instead of entering and fighting for what he cared, for what he deeply believed in, he lowered his guilty eyes to the floor avoiding her probing, inquisitive gaze and turned around, literally running away. He just couldn't take her tears; anger, disappointment, rage, even indifference yes _but not her tears_.

Still staring at the physical void he left behind Cuddy felt betrayed by all those years she stood by him, loving him silently, fighting for _his_ place in this world. Betrayal, in the House trademark way, was the willful slaughter of hope. As she faced the world today, Lisa Cuddy had nothing to hope for.

"Michelle, I am taking the rest of the day off. Cancel all my meetings." Cuddy ordered as she pressed her fingers against her temples. "No, I am not OK!" she jerked in her seat and added, as the hot tears threatened to fall again, "I don't know if I'll ever be!"


	29. Because of You

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 27~

Cuddy walked into her home without even knowing how she got there. Her vision was clouded, to the point she could only see shadows, and her heart threatened to strangle her as fear cut deep furrows into her stomach. She was losing it.

She threw her belongings on the floor, peeled all the unnecessary clothes off of her body, and desperately hugged a bottle of bourbon determined to master the art of forgetting; or at least the art of drowning her sorrows when they were so adamant at staying afloat.

A dream. It had all been a dream. The most wonderful moment of her life was an illusion. Pain seared through her body, through her empty womb. No. Impossible. It had been so real. She felt bereft because someone she loved deeply tugged her heart violently out of her chest. No. Was it all a dream? Has she loved at all? She curled on the couch, feet neatly folded under her, as tears started streaming down her cheeks. No, no, no. She huddled there for what seemed an eternity, draining the toxic liquor down her throat, until there were no more tears. A dream, all a dream. Her heart still cried no, but her mind, searching for logical conclusions, had already accepted it. There was no other explanation. It must have been a dream and it was time to wake up and face the reality.

Cuddy sucked in a ragged breath and wiped angrily at her tears. She was behaving like a fool. There was no sense in crying over a fantasy. She wanted it so badly that she projected it as a reality. Her and House's baby, what an illusion. She shook her head trying to crystallize her gaze and her thoughts but the stubborn tears sent her head spinning again. She remembered his eyes as he stood in front of her office, adding gasoline to the flammable surface of her soul. Oh how she wanted to get rid of that feeling; to peel it off, to wash it off of her skin, to reduce her existence to a life without him. Then it hit her like an express train that it wasn't a dream after all; it was as real as it was painful. And while she balanced her thoughts between what she believed had been a dream and what in fact was reality, her body, now almost completely stripped of the work clothes, found its way to the bathroom. Could agony be washed off?

She started the water in her shower and decided, for the first time in the last several days, to look at herself in the mirror. Cuddy was not afraid of what she could see but what she wouldn't. _A life worth living_.

She raised her bloodshot eyes to the image in the mirror and touched her cheeks, feeling the cold of her fingers penetrate her skin. She stared at the stranger on the other side and wondered how she had gotten there. She felt tormented, almost possessed, all day; she could hear the tearing at her consciousness and separation from reality. Her body felt residual strikes of pain as the scar on her thigh, caused by the arterial catheter, started flaring hot causing her to alternate her cries between animalistic whimpers and tortured screams. She turned around and switched the small radio on, trying to erase the resonating sound of her cries from the confined air of her bathroom with an upbeat tune. Then she dragged her heavy feet along the bathroom tiles and entered the shower, hoping to regain composure and make sense out of the delirium that had enveloped her. Little did she know that the next song on the radio would send her crumpling on the floor.

Cuddy pressed her palms against the cold tiles of her bathroom shower and let the hot, steamy water run over her body like a healing elixir. She closed her eyes, eternally grateful for the feel that the water and soap left lingering on her skin. Maybe it was possible to put all the pieces back together?

However when the first notes of Kelly Clarkson's and Reba McEntire's duet _Because of you_ filled the small shower stall, Lisa Cuddy, the omnipotent administrator, the woman in control of everyone and everything, the Ice Queen of the PPTH came undone in a million pieces, collapsing on the bathroom floor in strained, broken sobs.

Clenching her fists, she felt despair and sorrow well up so quickly that it burnt her inside. And then the world stopped again and what remained alive and kicking in the vacuum of that moment was the peculiar, corroding truthfulness of the song lyrics assaulting her being.

~***~

_I will not make the same mistakes that you did_

Cuddy shivered at the thought of Gregory House and all the mistakes he made in his life. Yet, she made the same ones; booze, pills, self-pity. Cameron was right, it was leaving a physical strain on her and clouding her judgment but was she, the strong-willed administrator, willing to quit now when nobody gave a damn? Their pity was not going to last long and she had work integrity to preserve. That was all she got left; her job. And if Valium kept her functional and bourbon made her forget, who was she to quit?

_I will not let myself cause my heart so much misery_

It was too late for that; there was no place left for misery simply because there was no heart anymore. There was a muscle pumping blood in her chest, keeping her from resting, from giving up completely the way she secretly wanted to.

_I will not break the way you did_

_You fell so hard_

She thought she was better than him. She thought he had handled his situation the worst way possible, playing stubborn and not giving up on his leg, almost killing himself to save it. She told him to amputate, suggesting the easy way out, just the way she was suggesting it to herself right now. She was, in fact, worse than him, because she didn't even put up a fight.

_I've learned the hard way, to never let it get that far_

Lisa Cuddy overestimated herself. She thought she could have it all; she thought she would make it. She listened to him to try one last time, and she willingly exposed herself. She dared to dream, to hope and yet life had just put out her sweetest reverie, like a playful kid putting out candles on his birthday cake. With gusto. She pushed the boundaries like he did everyday, and now they were broken, and she was on the floor. Helpless.

_Because of you, I never stray too far from the sidewalk_

She never could love him, believing he would never let her. She never could ask him for his sperm, believing he would never agree to such insanity. She never could work up the nerve to ask him to father her child naturally, believing he would ridicule her until the day she died. Yet her baby became the fruit of her inconfessable and unwise love. And both of them were gone. Her unwise love and her precious son, who would have grown up to have his dad's beautiful eyes. Probably.

_Because of you, I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt _

In this life, she counted on being_ just_ his friend and his boss. She learned to be there for him, every day, seeing his sad and gorgeous eyes, feeling his admiring gaze all over her body, desiring her, longing for her, fantasizing about her. She fought for his place in this world but every time he managed, somehow, to hurt her with his words, stabbing where it hurt the most. Yet his simple boyish smirk and obnoxious presence always ended up healing the wounds. She admired him and secretly loved him for more than 20 years, and yet he never hesitated ripping that away from her.

_Because of you, I find it hard to trust not only me, but everyone around me _

What the hell did she do? What was she thinking treating Cameron and Wilson like that? It was not her fault. Cameron was an ambitious yet sentimental girl, a lot like Cuddy a decade ago or so. She had always considered her a successor of sorts; she even planned to put her in charge during the maternity leave. What maternity leave? She would never have to worry about that again. Ever. But her coworkers were a different story. Would she ever apologize? Would she ever have the strength to face the pity in their eyes?

_Because of you I am afraid…_

Afraid? Of what? There was really no reason to be afraid. There was nothing left to lose. At least nothing she cared about. Life was currently a protocol she had to follow through, nothing else; an empty shell to be polished on the outside to fool the spectators with its shine. Because the _meaning of life_ had already had a full name picked out, but no one would ever find out or attend to it. Love was stolen from her twice, by death and by retribution.

_I lose my way _

How could she have done that? Lisa Cuddy had disrespected the hospital Board, fired a valued colleague, terrorized her staff in the ER, cut House's paycheck and alienated Wilson who had only tried to help her. All in one day! And for what? Her own personal revenge? Who was she? She couldn't recognize herself anymore. She had certainly lost her compass.

_And it's not too long before you point it out _

How would the infamous Gregory House react? Which evil comments would leave his poisonous yet honey-sweet mouth? Would he ever regret his actions, even if only for a fraction of a second? Would he consider her pain or would he simply laugh and make a cruel joke about her despair, claiming that hope was for sissies? Would he show his human side or shove his 'humanity is overrated' right into her face? She didn't know, and probably would never find out but she was certain of one thing, she wouldn't be able to stop him whatever he decided to do.

_I cannot cry _

_Because I know that's weakness in your eyes _

He was standing there in front of her office, watching her, his sapphire gaze scotching her skin like a torch. She was coming undone, and he was there, silently observing the fruit of his vengeance. Or maybe not. What did she see in his eyes? Did he smile? Would he have offered her his shoulder to cry on? Would she have accepted? Would she have listened to him if he had tried to apologize? Would she have let him take her back to his home and nurture her back to health? She would have, no need to lie to herself, because that would have brought her the love of her life back and she would have gotten another shot at survival. But that was a beautiful lie to believe in. House didn't care. He never had.

_I'm forced to fake, a smile, a laugh_

_Every day of my life _

Lisa Cuddy was not allowed to cry in public, where everybody could see her. She was not allowed the luxury of showing her emotions, especially not in front of him. Instead she had to keep pretenses, wear professional masks and hide behind the cold administrator suit even when her heart was bleeding. So she was turning into a puppet, a true comedian of sorts trying to please everyone. Yet most people failed to recognize one thing about comedians and puppets - the more they made people smile, the more pain that they usually felt inside.

_My heart can't possibly break _

Her heart had been in his hands for the last two decades, she had given it to him that one night he touched both her body and her soul, that unique occasion when the two of them were one, those few hours when she felt more loved and desired than she could have imagined possible. And she never got it back, not even the morning after when she couldn't decide whether it was sorrow or indifference in his eyes, not even in the worst moments of their _professional_ arguing and bickering all these years. However, he gave it back to her only three days ago, shattered in pieces.

_When it wasn't even whole to start with _

He tried to make love to her in his apartment. He saw her crying, eternally sorry that he would never be the father of her baby, and yet he didn't even bother mentioning he actually had been all along. She just had to feel it one more time, his taste, his smell, his touch; she desperately wanted to belong to him but she also had to protect her baby. And from what? From his dad? He could have told her, they could have made love; he would have slept by her side and looked out for her while she slept, and he could have noticed the pulmonary embolism earlier. Her baby boy could have had a shot in this life. Those tears would have never left her eyes and those bitter words she had said to him would have never left her lips. That was the beginning of an end.

~***~

Crumpled on the floor, in fetal position, Cuddy cried her heart out as she relived each and every word of that song. She shivered violently even though the water was still hot; the truth however was colder than ice. The chorus echoed in her brain. All, because of him.

_~***~_

_I watched you die _

So many times. He was always in some kind of trouble, and Cuddy was always alert. The infarction, the shot, the bus crash and the brain stimulation. She had always been there, always by his side, always willing to help. Why did he do this to her? She never asked anything in return.

_I heard you cry_

If he only knew, damn it, if that son of a bitch knew that every tear that had ever left his blue mesmerizing eyes tattooed yet another deep scar on her heart. If he only knew that she would have gladly shared his pain if she could, and that she had never let go of his hand all those days at the hospital.

_Every night in your sleep _

Cuddy saw every single expression on his face when he was in pain, even when his brain lapsed into coma. And she was there, his long-life companion, by his side, holding his hand, like it was the most natural thing to do.

_I was so young _

_You should have known better than to lean on me _

She tried her best to save his leg and his dignity given her young years and sparse medical experience. There had been absolutely no reason to feel guilty. The doctors before her had failed him, not her. It was in her nature to do something, to fight against death, to do the damn surgery. She had to convince Stacy. She had to ignore his will, because Lisa Cuddy couldn't bare the thought of losing Gregory House. She had to be selfish.

_You never thought of anyone else _

_You just saw your pain _

House never hesitated blaming her for his own pain. The way he looked at her after he had woken up from anesthesia, the hatred in his eyes got her instantly frozen. Did he, in that moment, swear he would get his revenge one day? Had he waited ten years, yearning for it?

_And now I cry _

_In the middle of the night _

_For the same damn thing_

With the last sound of that torturing melody, Cuddy's body went into a series of violent spasms as she finally realized how Gregory House had felt all these years. Defeated by life.

* * *

A/N

*Thank you for your patience and kind reviews. We really appreciate it. We would like to welcome all our new readers. It's great to have you with us!

**This version of _Because of you _can be found in Miss Cuddles' True Lies Music Library.

***Tell us how you liked this chapter approach. Nikki **& **Simone **& **Andie


	30. As Months Go By Part I

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 28~

**September**

_Spiteful words can hurt your feelings but silence breaks your heart_

Silence was the saddest form of eulogy yet silence was all they had for each other. Even though Cuddy was trained, by years of extensive micromanagement and people pleasing, to be civil and polite, she couldn't talk to him without a possibility of breaking down. So she decided to pretend she had never cared for him, she had never been hurt by his actions or his words. She ignored him because it was way easier than watching him or dealing with him on everyday basis. And she buried all her hurt and despair in outward indifference.

Cuddy's self-imposed exile was the only logical solution left for her to keep her dignity; _if hiding cowardly behind the professional call could be called dignity_. With House she strictly communicated through memos and his team, using them as her personal messenger boys, because she could. Her own back and call, even if highly unethical and unprofessional. This was the first time Dr. Lisa Cuddy put her sanity before ethics and professionalism. And yet, it wasn't nearly enough to keep her heart rate steady.

_He was_, however, always everywhere. _He_ occupied every other corner of her life and her hospital: yelling at nurses in the halls; arguing with patients in the clinic; playing foosball with Wilson during lunch hour or stealing his food in the cafeteria; _corrupting_ young minds in the doctor's lounge as if nothing had happened between them. She couldn't even find peace in her own office without enduring his omnipresent annoying behavior; through rumors, gossip and more often than not, through lawsuits.

House refused to relinquish his bad boy image even though her big blue eyes were not directly following him. He was joyfully aware of the fact that she was well informed about his misdemeanors yet he missed their banter more than anything else in the world; he missed the delight in her eyes when she medically challenged him; he missed the way her lips curled upwards when she was amused with his antics; damn, he missed her anger, her voice, the way her skin shined, the way her office smelled first thing in the morning, fresh and frisky after her; he missed her in his life.

The medical mysteries presented before him suddenly lost their charm; there was no more fun in them. The heavy silence that had fallen between them was killing him, both personally and professionally, yet he refused to push her anguish further than he had to. _If she needed time, he was ready to give it to her._

* * *

**October**

_When one is pretending the entire body revolts_

She secretly watched his face; she privately counted his words. When she began to do this it was not long before she made up her mind that the latter had become much fewer – that House talked less than he had ever before, to anyone. He took no revenge, but he was cold, and in his coldness there was something horribly inevitable; or at least it seemed so to her. He looked at her less and less, whereas before his eyes couldn't have been peeled off of her body. Only one truth sunk in her heart; he was deliberately avoiding her tying the rope around neck tighter and tighter with each passing day. _If giving him time to mull it over and reach his own conclusions was the only thing that would keep her afloat and breathing, Cuddy was ready to yield. _

His equilibrium was off. He wondered how many times she stood in the middle of her office staring at nothing because of him and the way he treated her. The genius doctor literally didn't know what to do now that he wasn't, by universal injustice, allowed to really talk to her. He'd had both questions and explanations, all those things he wanted to know that all his research and brilliant intuition could never tell him; all those things he wanted to say that one life wouldn't be enough to muster the courage and strength.

House burned to become knowledgeable about the intimate details of her life; what she did at night, who she talked to and confided in, who absorbed her overwhelming grief when she was not at work, who and what made her laugh. All in vain. She had shut the doors to her inner circles, fiercely protecting herself from him, and there was nothing he could say without reopening the wounds. And although he never cared for other people and their feelings, this time he didn't want to do that to her, despite the fact it was all he wanted to do – open the doors, both the physical and emotional ones. Yet silence seemed the best option now that she was turning ice-cold and indifferent to his meager existence. Work was all he was left with and even that had started to suffocate him.

House increased the intake of potent drugs - morphine, Vicodin and scotch - in a disastrous bid for emotional relief and total amnesia. His habits and sheer existence became progressively nocturnal as the sleepless nights crept on him like a shadow. Forgetting, after all, was the hardest part because he didn't want to.

Paralleling his self-destruction and unintentionally commiserating with him, Cuddy increased her dosage of Valium in order to control her lungs and _her heart_, plus her overly unprofessional attitude at work. Waiting was painful. Forgetting was painful. But not knowing which to do was the worst kind of suffering and Cuddy had skillfully mastered it.

Both House and Cuddy failed to recognize they were desperate for each other. It seemed to them that the fragile _October-October_ story reached its sunset and slowly faded away, like the last note to their waltz.


	31. As Months Go By Part II

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 29~

**November**

_I'll just end up walking in the cold November rain_

She stood in the rain. She stood there in that parking lot, in the rain and cried her own tears from her eyes, mixed with the tears from the gray sky above. The parking lot on this rainy dark day was empty when it should have not been. This seemed to be bittersweet to her.

She was alone from herself, from those that cared and mattered to her. She didn't feel the cold that she should have, but yet she shivered. She didn't feel desperate, but she didn't remember standing in that parking lot in the rain. She didn't feel anything except being alone.

With a pout, Cuddy counted the rain drops as they descended down her cheeks leaving a black trail of mascara. Were they really rain drops or was she counting her own tears? _Did it matter to him?_ she asked herself as a deep-drawn sigh escaped her rosy lips. Her curly dark hair was beaded with rain and she struggled to keep her worn, heavy eyelashes apart as she focused her blurry vision on a man approaching his motorcycle. The very man that was the sole cause of her agony.

She lifted up her hand and wiped her face on the jacket sleeve. She didn't notice that her suit was soaked. Even if she did, it wouldn't have mattered.

Nothing mattered anymore, not at this time, not at this place, not in this life.

She thought of a love. A lost love. The name escaped her; the face eluded her memory, the smell of him dissipated into nothingness. All she remembered was a love. The protagonist of her inconfessable dreams, her secret source of hope and meaning.

_A lost love._

She paused on what someone had said once. Someone much wiser than her, but at the same time, someone born and bathed in idiocracy.

"It is better to have loved and lost, then to never have loved at all."

She lightly shook her head in disgust causing her hair to cling harder to her face, covering her eyes in a secret shroud. The sudden movement sickened her, twisting her knotted stomach tighter, causing her to quench the pain, by clenching her fist.

She wanted to scream, to yell, to laugh, to cry more. She wanted to stop breathing and to breathe deep, taking all or nothing in. Yet all she managed was to drown in his deep blue eyes as he locked his gaze with hers, standing just merely 20 feet away.

She was waiting for only one word to leave his lips. Salvation. Her name. _Cuddy_.

He looked at her and felt a tug inside of his chest. She was a merely shadow of the woman he grew to love all those years.

Fragile leaves hit the ground. The cold air drifted into his lungs. He saw her face through the misty fog as he traversed the parking lot. Reminded him of the dreams she had lost. He could see it in her eyes. She was broken down, her lips were silenced, her eyelashes heavy from all those unshed tears.

He knew she loved him but the past wounds had turned into scars. Her tongue was so tainted by bitterness that she couldn't help but release the taste by screaming the silence. The silence that turned into the saddest conversation he'd ever had. It was about all the promises that he had never made yet managed to break, about all the sweet songs that had never composed yet they somehow managed to turn into the anthems of pain.

House found himself shouldering the faults of his past and his present away from the innocent guilt of her lips, staring up at the wall she'd built to guard herself from those who'd left faster than they came. He was one of them; the one that deliberately stomped her heart as he ran farther and farther away from her.

He was waiting for only one word to leave her lips. His name. _House_.

But silence enveloped the deserted parking lot and he was certain she could hear his heartbeat in the eerie distance that separated them. The gaping hole in his chest was filled with deceit as the November rain inhaled him entirely.

_Nothing. _She lowered her tortured eyes in an attempt to rescue the last remnants of her soul and House, yet again, mistook it for refusal. Quickly he mounted his beloved two-wheeled pet and decided run, like he had run so many times in his life. But then something broke inside of him and he drove to her car. He turned the engine off and lifted his visor up, asking her silently to look at him, to forgive him, to give him a sign. Because, after all, that might have been the closest thing that she would have ever received to an apology. A true repentance in his eyes.

For what seemed an eternity, the modern medicine version of Romeo and Juliet stood silently in the parking lot with the soft patter of rain hitting the cement as if it was trying to communicate their thoughts through the Morse code. As she felt his presence her right hand subconsciously traveled and rested on her flat stomach. He froze, and clutched his thigh as if holding onto his own pain would relieve hers. And there was nothing more than he wanted in that moment than to relieve her of pain; both physical and emotional. And if loving her was his mortal sin then he was prepared to be damned for eternity; after all, he saved his golden coins for the river Styx.

Her eyes were still shying away from him although she was attentively breathing his presence in. He watched the rain drip from her curls and wondered for a moment, _was she crying_?

_House never got his answer._

Without looking at him Cuddy entered her car and started the engine. Seconds later the November fog swallowed the contours of her vehicle, with the taillights beaming like a rescuing lighthouse during a storm. He closed his eyes and imagined her delicate frame next to him. Salvation never seemed farther away. He was alone.

* * *

**December**

_Loneliness is never more cruel than when it is felt in close proximity of someone who has ceased to communicate._

How like a winter hath my absence been.

From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!

What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen,

What old December's bareness everywhere!

_**~William Shakespeare, Sonnet 97**_

_**

* * *

  
**_


	32. Winter Solstice

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 30~

**December 21, Friday morning**

"A 17-year-old high school student. Has heart palpitations, cold sweats, and hypoglycemia. Lost 12 pounds in the last six months. Go!" House limped into the small conference room and nonchalantly threw a bunch of medical files at his team, who were patiently sitting around the table.

"Juvenile diabetes? Explains all the symptoms," Thirteen suggested first proudly lifting her gaze to her boss, tilting her chin slightly.

"Gold star for effort. Read your files, the kid shows no diabetes." House retorted with a trace of annoyance. He was kind of in a good mood, looking forward to his uneventful weekend.

"You could have mentioned that the patient has a history of thyroid dysfunction," Taub protested over his chart, systematically flipping pages and checking patient's history.

"Why would I do that? You all can read, can't you?" House mockingly asked, attempting to embarrass his team members but their resilience grew stronger over time and they learned to play along.

"It says here that all thyroid tests were normal over the last three year, T3 and T4 levels were normal, except TSH which slightly decreased." Kutner contributed with a concern in his voice, drawing the eyebrows together. Something didn't seem right there.

"Autoimmune. Graves disease," Thirteen threw the first plausible idea out, looking first at Taub then at Kutner as if to gain their support.

"Didn't you hear what Kutner just said? T3 and T4 levels are normal. Plus the kid has no signs of eye protuberance (bulging) or pretibial myxedema (thickening of the skin usually found on the lower extremities)." House knowledgeably contributed, obviously well-versed on the patient's condition. In anticipation, he waited for his team's reaction.

"How do you know that? Since when do you talk to patients?" Taub asked visibly surprised

"I had cameras installed in every unit. Couldn't get enough of the nurses' juicy gossip. You should see what they say about you." House said with a boyish grin, trying really hard to keep a straight face. Mocking Taub was one of his favorite pastimes.

"It still fits. Thyroid dysfunction history, fatigue, weight loss with increased appetite, rapid heart beat, and muscle weakness. Want me to call Bennett?" Thirteen suddenly asked, finally getting everybody's attention. Rivalry was one thing that greased House's wheel.

"Why? So the idiot can confirm what I already know? It's not Graves, people! If his pediatric endocrinologist thought it had been Graves, the kid would have been on beta-blockers and anti-thyroids long ago." House raised his voice, almost stomping his feet on the floor, like a 7-year-old, in protest.

"It won't hurt to bring him in for a consult." Thirteen was insistent.

"Fine." House yielded and rolled his eyes again, figuring that agreeing to her stupid idea was the fastest way to get rid of her. Then he turned to his male protégés. "Kutner, go talk to the parents. See if you can extract any other relevant details about the brat. Taub, redo the blood work and do a tox-screen."

"You think he is doing drugs?" Taub asked innocently, clearly inviting House to mock him.

"Do we live in the same century?" He rhetorically asked Thirteen and Kutner as he pointed to Taub and rolled his eyes. Then he pointed to the glass door. "Get lost! All of you!"

As the ducklings walked out to run their tasks, House walked into his office, determinant to call Wilson.

"Need you here. Now," House ordered with a fake whimper.

"And I need to see 3 patients before lunch and fill out the bone marrow transplant paperwork. Good luck with your needs." Wilson twirled a pen in his hand, utterly amused with his friend's performance.

"Says the man who thrives on other people needing him. Seriously, I'm not feeling well and none of the ducklings are here, I'm not sure I..." House voice decreased in volume as his sentence was nearing the end. He sounded like he was losing his conscience. When Wilson heard only the beeping sound of the disconnected line in his receiver, he instantly jumped to his feet and ran to House's office. When he arrived he found House comfortably sprawled on his yellow armchair.

"You idiot!" Wilson screeched in apparent fear. His face changed three shades of white in the last 30 seconds. "You know, next time you cry wolf there might be nobody coming to your rescue." Wilson emphasized, piercing House with his wild, dark eyes.

"My stomach lining is being devoured by the peptic acid and if I don't eat I might die. That hardly qualifies as crying wolf." House explained in logic of a sixth grader.

"What are you, a 2-year old? Should I get you a bib?" Wilson asked, obviously pissed.

"No. Strangely, I got used to your annoying presence which implies that I'll find it weird if you're not with me at lunch, which in turn will make me feel anxious and cause me to lose my appetite. Well, and I need some lunch money!" The renowned diagnostician recited in one breath, afraid that his friend might leave. Then he added, with the saddest puppy face expression in the history of pleading. "I'm broke."

"Fine. Let's go. I refuse to have your hypoglycemic persona on my conscience." Wilson responded with his trademark agreeing sigh, sliding his hands into the lab coat pockets.

"Speaking of hypoglycemic, make yourself useful." House shoved his patient's file in Wilson's chest, indirectly asking for his medical opinion, and walked past him. Seconds later Wilson followed and they blissfully headed for cafeteria to have lunch.

**That Afternoon, 4:30pm**

Coming back late from his lunch break, House noticed Dr. Bennett and the endocrinology team, along with the ducklings in his small conference room. Before entering he turned to Wilson and sarcastically added, showing disgust on his face. "Looks like the entire Cirque de Soleil moved to my office. Freaks."

"Lead the way, maestro." Wilson said with a devious chuckle, clearly mocking him, as he pushed the door and they jointly entered.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" House asked from the door, focusing his annoyance on Bennett.

"As agreed, I called Dr. Bennett and his team in for a consult on Dylan Hirsch." Thirteen explained and looked sympathetically at Dr. Bennett and his team, giving them a small smile of assurance.

"Who?" House apathetically asked, silently cringing to the boy's first name. A million frames per second rolled in front of his eyes. He imagined his son at 17, finishing high school, playing video games with his old man, looking cute as a button. Actually, looking a lot like his mother. Would he have been sensitive like her or crass like him? Would he have been interested in medicine, monster trucks and puzzles? _Dylan E. House_. Just an epitaph to remember, as years rolled by.

"Your thyroid patient, the 17-year old Dylan Hirsch." Thirteen repeated and noticed that House zoned out when he let a small sigh slip his mouth. She called out his name quickly. "Dr. House!"

"Oh, no. Another Jew." He made a quick comeback with a socially unacceptable joke, covering his own insecurities and fears, and most importantly his pain. Then he turned to Wilson and semi-whispered to him, "Genetic predisposition to failure. Remind me not to mix with them."

"House." Wilson shrieked trying to shush his friend, under his breath. He was morally outraged not only because he belonged to the Jewish faith but Bennett also.

"What?" House shrugged his shoulders innocently at Wilson. "I am just stating the obvious. Is that a crime?"

"No, but anti-Semitism is." Wilson replied matter-of-factly, eternally embarrassed.

"See, I don't care about semantics. Neither should you. They are evil." He smirked cynically and leaned into Wilson's face, making his point. Then he turned around and addressed the crowd, as if they were all standing in a line for dinner buffet. "Anyway, what do we have here?"

"It is Graves." Dr. Bennett finally decided to speak up, looking at the medical files over his glasses.

"Has the patient grown another thyroid gland since this morning?" House tilted his head and asked with a sheer dose of amusement in his voice.

"No." The ducklings responded in unison.

"Then it's not Graves. We are missing something." House scratched his stubble and limped to the white board. He turned his back to the endocrinologist and his team.

"The inconclusiveness of the thyroid panel is consistent with the Graves disease." Dr. Bennett insisted, obviously infuriated by House's outrageous behavior and professional disrespect.

"And a dozen of other thyroid dysfunctions. Read my lips: _it's not Graves_!" House quickly pivoted on his heel and yelled at the older man to everyone's astonishment.

"Dr. House, my extensive endocrinology experience proves…" Dr. Bennett suddenly lost his temper and slightly raised his voice. For a soft spoken man, it was so out of character.

"…that you are an idiot." House interrupted and finished off Bennett's thought with his own offensive pearl of wisdom.

For the next fifteen minutes the Dylan Hirsch differential was on stand by as House decided to extend his verbal assault of Dr. Bennett in front of everybody. The two lead doctors got into a lengthy argument that eventually reached the ears of Dr. Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine who immediately decided to intervene; before they killed each other.

House could swear that he sensed her before she even appeared on his horizon. He noticed her walking down the hallway, sensually swinging her hips, and his heart skipped a beat when she pushed her way into the already crowded conference room. Instead of folding and giving in to her wicked ways, he decided to cover his weakness for her by making a snarky remark.

"Is there a Jew convention going on here that I don't know of?" House semi-shouted towards Wilson who seemed like his _insult-of-the-day_ bouncing board.

Cuddy walked in, obviously annoyed by their behavior. She was back to her bossy-self. "What's going on here?"

"Your star endocrinologist is trying to kill my patient." House said with a childish pout on his face as he walked back to Wilson. He was ready to argue like his life depended on it.

"Dr. Cuddy, the young patient clearly exhibits the symptoms of Graves disease and…" Dr. Bennett protested, trying to regain some authority over the differential.

"How old is the patient?" Cuddy asked, raising her eyebrow. Then she extended her hand towards the ducklings silently asking for the patient's medical file.

"Seventeen." Taub responded quickly and handed her the file.

For several minutes, Cuddy carefully read the medical history, diligently comparing the semi-annual thyroid panel lab results. Her brows arched from time to time as if she was very comfortable with it and then, finally, she requested the latest thyroid panel.

House leaned toward Wilson and semi-loudly remarked, clearly trying to cover how uncomfortable he was both personally and professionally "The biggest salary in the hospital just nonchalantly strolled in, wearing a very indecent outfit and pretending to be a doctor. Two for two. I wonder why I choose diagnostics over endocrinology. Seems like endocrinology allows you to stick your nose into someone else's business. Maybe I should switch, freeing my time up for a jazz band and some cooking classes. These perks seem fun." Wilson just rolled his eyes and hissed though his teeth.

"House."

"Shhhh…" House brought his left index finger to his lips, determinant to play this game all the way though. "This is gonna be good. We got the front row seats for the ultimate female humiliation. Well, she's got that cleavage working for her but that's just overcompensating for all the other fields."

"House." Wilson hissed ever harder, anger pouring out of his pores. All the heads in the small conference room turned towards them.

"It's OK, Wilson. I am sure his ego overcompensates for everything else." Cuddy replied and returned to the differential, completely ignoring the diagnostician. House smirked in disagreement, secretly contempt with that the old Cuddy was back.

"Has the patient exhibited any psychosomatic symptoms?" Cuddy asked and looked at the ducklings.

"His parents just told me that he's been having nightmares. Plus he has a very short temper and feels extremely tense, especially in school." Kutner replied wondering if that was relevant.

"Puberty, such a treacherous state. The last girlfriend must have been really lousy. Aw." House added with a fake concern, holding his hand to his chest as if to mimic heartache.

Cuddy started putting the pieces in order as if she was stacking the Lego blocks together. She picked up the thyroid ultrasound from the table and raised her eyes towards the team. There was an image of triumph in her eyes. She easily connected the medical dots because the case presented before her was almost exactly the same like the one she had written her journal article on several years ago.

"Do the treadmill test, and see how fast his pulse rises. Closely monitor the right side of his neck. The boy has _hyperthyroidism_ secondary to a toxic nodule. When a visible mass appears, do the Technetium scan to confirm. Measure its size." Cuddy ordered and glanced amusingly at House, offering him a shy smile. "It's quite rare in teenagers but it's not unheard of. He will be fine, and I am sure do a lot better in college. Dr. Hadley, please schedule a surgical excision."

"Too late to take those words back, House. She is gonna eat whatever is left of your liver for breakfast." Wilson scooted closer to his friend and squeezed the promotion between his teeth, barely whispering. But House heard him loud and clear because he had just imagined the very same thing. His own liver on Cuddy's silver plate.

"I saved his life. That moron…" As if to justify himself to both Wilson and to Cuddy, House childishly pointed to Dr. Bennett as he was leaving the conference room with his endocrinology team. There was a palpable rebellion in his voice as he pouted. "…would have killed him with the anti-thyroid meds."

"No need for name calling, Dr. House." Cuddy sarcastically reprimanded him and continued, deliberately failing to acknowledge his original remark "Now that _I_ have saved his life, the highly skilled doctors you hired can perfectly handle treating the patient." Hearing their boss's indirect order, the ducklings hurriedly walked out of the conference room to run the treadmill test as they were told. Gloating, Cuddy quickly turned to Wilson, remembering something. Then she gently asked him releasing an avalanche of jealousy in House. "James, I know it's a benign tumor but would you mind doing a routine biopsy?"

"No problem. I am on it." Wilson immediately picked up the nonverbal cue and apologetically smiled at her. Two of his closest friends needed to talk. Then without much protest from the tactless diagnostician, Wilson left.

Cuddy, now alone with House, turned to him with the most innocent face God had ever created. She fluttered her long, black eyelashes at him. "What kind of heartless woman would I be if I didn't give you another chance to prove your brilliance? Better luck this time." She vigorously shoved a medical file in his chest and fired back, using his own ammunition. "If you'd excuse me, I have a yoga class in half of an hour."

"What is this?" House shrieked in surprise pulling her unintentionally hard by her arm. "You are asking me to take another case?" He wasn't sure if he was angry or disappointed but he realized that a whole lot had changed between them in the last three months. The spell was broken.

"I'm not asking you to take the case, I'm telling you to." She jerked her arm out of his grasp with a painful grimace on her face. _Who was this man?,_ she asked herself as she massaged her upper arm. He had never been aggressive or violent before. At least not physically.

"You used to ask before." House said in plain disappointment and placed the file under his arm. Then without a hint he limped back into his office, leaving her to stare at his back like a voodoo priestess.

"Just until I figured I never had to." She clarified as she followed him in, battling with the glass door that he impolitely closed in her face. "If you don't want to work that's fine by me, there are exits on every floor. But so you know I have ten brilliant doctors on standby, willing to take your job for half the money."

"Not as brilliant as me." House offered a remark with a deliberate smug on his face, instantly mocking her.

"Yeah, you are so brilliant that you couldn't even diagnose your own leg or save you own child in time! If that was you being brilliant, I don't wanna know what smart would look like. You know what? I wouldn't even label you as smart, you are pathetic and mediocre, House." She couldn't believe she had said that; she used the hardest ammunition against him, to hurt, to humiliate, to get even. Like he had done so many times before. Yet it didn't seem right; it didn't seem just but the spiteful words had already left her mouth. Lisa Cuddy, for the first time in her life, hurt him on purpose. Her heart missed several beats in her chest. Something palpable shattered inside of her and made a wheezing sound in her head. She squeezed her arms against her heart with force, trying to keep down memories rising from within her.

Still shocked and deeply hurt by her previous remark, he gasped for air. This was all new to him; the gaping hole inside of his chest, the sudden lack of oxygen in his lungs. _Did she just say that?_

"Seriously, that's it? Little uptight administrator can't do better than that?" House asked harshly and continued as if remorse and good manners evaporated from the air around them. "You wanna talk about failures, so be it! How much money have you spent on IVF trying to get pregnant with some unknown idiot's baby because you were not capable of finding a decent guy to father it? How many samples have you gone through until my sperm knocked you up? Well, it hardly matters now because you couldn't keep it anyway, could you? Sexual frustration is a bitch Cuddy especially when mixed with low self esteem and genetic predisposition to failure." Then he turned away, hiding his scarred soul from her. Everything was written in his eyes and he made sure that she didn't read it.

Tears threatened to choke her but she decided not to give up this time. If this was the way to end it, she wanted to strike the final blow. Suppressing the guilt from within, she delivered her wrath. "This is why you kept it a secret, didn't you? You didn't want your son to see what kind of idiot he's got for a father or maybe you wanted him, in your fucked up sense of justice, to spend his life wondering who the hell might have been his father, like you have wondered ever since you were 12?" Her last remark made him turn around and look at her with the utmost hatred.

"Maybe those religious morons have been right all along, maybe there is a God who knows exactly what he is doing, so he saved my son from having a crappy, unstable mother like you." And there it was. The final stab to their fragile relationship. He delivered it with such a masterful precision that would have required years and years of rehearsing. But Gregory House was never a man of forgiveness and when someone ripped his heart out he made sure to return the favor.

It took her whole 2 seconds to register his words in their malicious fullness before her hand found its way to his cheek. She slapped him so hard that he almost lost balance. Simultaneously, she screamed at him like a wounded hyena. "You son of a bitch!"

"Nice. Is this how you win all your arguments?" House asked scornfully as his palm rubbed the sting her fingers left on his left cheek. He was sure she had imprinted all five of her fingers on his skin. _It wasn't that he hadn't deserved it_, he thought to himself. He did. Ten times harder but the damage had already been done.

"I've had enough of you and your foul mouth, House! I want to see all your crap out of this office when I set my foot in this hospital first thing after the holidays. And pray to your recently found God that I give up the idea of contacting every single hospital administrator I know in this country to make sure you don't get a decent job anywhere from here to Alaska!" She viciously spewed in one breath, as fire, ice and tears sparked from her deadly serious eyes. Then she added, almost in cold blood. "And that's how I win my arguments!" Cuddy turned on her heel and furiously walked away, swinging her hips just to accentuate how hurt and mad she was. House froze in the middle of his office and silently looked after her, as if the only thing moving on the planet in that moment were her hips. The world stood still.

Seconds later, a choked shriek of pain filled the air of his office as she ripped his heart out of his body. That was the price of defying her, House thought with an angry growl. And it hurt. Her remark that he couldn't have saved his own son hurt like acid on an open, bleeding wound. An emotional wreck he was, an empty shell of a man who had once seen life as merely a way to pass the time till death took him. Perhaps he had always been empty. _Death takes us all, does it not?_ he thought to himself and swallowed two Vicodin.

To have lost her was his only regret. But then again was it not true that it was better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all?

_To have loved and lost_. To have lost that one love you had spent more than 20 years pining for. Thinking about her every movement, word, expression, touch. No. No. No. House shook his head, erasing the images in front of his eyes, and then he decided to make a move, tossing aside any form of sound reasoning. Was he about to dive into an empty pool, head first? Was it worth the pain?

He already paid the highest price there was, it was time to do something about it.

Three minutes after 8pm, House skillfully snuck into Cuddy's office, like he had done many times before. It was truly her sanctuary. The place that knew all her smiles and all her scents better then her own bed. The place where she would turn to first if she needed to run and hide. And there he was, standing in the middle of it, inhaling what had been left of her scent, thinking how and why they'd gotten where they were today. Bitter enemies.

His universe, people said, depended on the balance of five forces which they had identified as brilliance, persuasion, uncertainty, cowardice and selfishness. He had exhausted all of them but persuasion. Although he had never been a man of integrity, the most important persuasion tool he had in his entire arsenal, worthy of Lisa Cuddy, was his long lost integrity. Tonight he was going to be true to his own word. There was no going back.

He took a large paperclip and uncoiled it into a straight line, still nervously looking around in anticipation; those few lock-picking tutorials Foreman had given him had finally paid off when he opened Cuddy's drawer. Then, slowly, he fished for the small object in his jacket pocket and pulled it out, silently slipping into Camus' existentialism. After all, it was all about meaning. Lisa Cuddy deserved meaning and when he placed the little, wrapped package in her desk, he was absolutely sure he had given it to her.

He didn't know how and if he would make it, but this _would be the longest night of his life_.

* * *

A/N

*You know we love you, don't you? Nikki, Simone & Andie


	33. What did you get for Christmas?

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 31~

**Monday, Christmas Eve, 06:17 PM **

Cuddy walked into the PPTH almost in slow motion, shaking off glistening snowflakes off of her curls, unaware how she had gotten there in the first place. Her pale face was adorned with a set of dark circles around her eyes that became threateningly alive under the unsympathetic fluorescent lobby light, and a knot formed in the middle of her forehead suggesting her unhidden sorrow. This was the saddest Christmas Eve in her life.

She uttered a weak _good evening_ and _Merry Christmas_ to the nurses as she walked by their work station and approached the hospital's Christmas tree. Cuddy felt extremely guilty that she got to enjoy the time off for holidays while the rest of her staff had to work. She stood there silently, hoping for some kind of miracle. After all, Christmas was the time of hope and miracles and even though she didn't belong to the Christian faith, deep down she believed in its power; in the power of love, hope, and forgiveness. Her zombie-like, almost hypnotic stare was focused on the little tree ornaments dangling freely to the _White Christmas_ tune coming from a music box underneath it. Her insides contorted and she let out a small sigh; a sigh of irreparable loss. She extended her shaky fingers to touch a white crystal angel and she thought of him.

Gregory House didn't celebrate holidays; he made no amends; he bought no presents. He didn't believe in the sprit of giving and receiving, in the power of forgiveness. His crass existence lacked social gravity yet he gave her the most precious gift of all. For four months, he was her true miracle. And now, for the first time since losing her child, she was thankful for that miracle; she was able to appreciate the greatness of House's act. Because of that, suddenly she realized, she owed him an apology for all said and done on December 21st. Christmas was, after all, his holiday too.

As if this realization injected a large dose of strength and enthusiasm into her veins, Cuddy quickly waltzed into her office, resolved to get the Board documentation as soon as possible and head out. She had a mission to complete and she hated when bureaucracy stood in the way. Gregory House was going to listen to her tonight, whether he liked it or not. True remorse was never just regret over consequence; it was regret over motive. She had to apologize for her ultimate motive – the deliberate hurt she unleashed on him. She could only hope that the Christmas sprit, or at least a large amount of scotch, had softened his heart and he was ready to make some sort of amends. After all she didn't really intend to fire him or stick by her decision longer than 2 or 3 days; she just wanted to send her point across in those decisive moments or rage and emotional impairment. The thought of offering him his job back, as a sort of ceasefire between them, brought a small smile on her face; Christmas Eve no longer seemed hopeless.

Cuddy walked over to her desk, switching only the floor lamp by the door as she entered. She quickly glanced over her desktop as she was sitting down in her highly expensive, administrator chair and immediately noticed that something was out of order. Something was missing. The order of the items on her working surface was off; something indeed was missing.

She sat in silence mentally rearranging her table when the epiphany kicked in. Her framed photograph was missing; the _Emma Sloan_ black and white portrait she cherished so much because it signified the ultimate victory of life and hope over death. It was a candid black and white photograph of Dr. Lisa Cuddy smiling; her smile was the proof that even when things were hard, there was joy to be felt and a purpose in one's life to be fulfilled. That moment, which Emma Sloan managed to capture from her hospital bed, was a true epitome of sincerity and heart.

Thinking back, Cuddy wondered if the cleaning lady had been on duty the previous weekend. Even if she had been, she would have never moved her stuff, Cuddy was sure of it. Was it possible she had hallucinated and subconsciously rearranged her desk, unable to look back at the happier times? After all those enormous doses of Valium she had subjected herself to lately and all the probing numbness clouding her social objectivity, she was not even sure about her actions anymore. No. No. No. She hadn't gone that far. At least not yet. When she walked out of her office on Friday afternoon she left everything in order; perfectly in its place.

Cuddy quickly pulled a set of keys out of her purse and began unlocking her main desk drawer but, to her surprise, she found it unlocked and partially opened. She skeptically smirked as a small, unwelcome chill travelled down her spine and she jerked the wooden case towards her body. Without hesitation, she glanced over the contents in the drawer; there was no sign of her beloved photograph but something else gawked at her anxiously, something that did not belong there; a white envelope with her name, _Lisa,_ scribbled over it in a nervous cursive and a small object wrapped in a crumpled white tissue paper. She touched the envelope like it was a holy relic, tracing the lines of House's impatient handwriting. She would have recognized his handwriting among thousands of different samples, especially how he curved the letter L when he wrote her name.

Cuddy opened the envelope, the tips of her fingers burning with the contact and anticipation, and pulled out a single, folded sheet of paper. Then jerking to her feet she unfolded the letter, written on the PPTH's official stationary, and started to read.

* * *

December 21st

Dr. Lisa Cuddy

Dean of Medicine

Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital

Princeton, NJ 08540

I hereby tender my resignation from the Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital effective immediately and irrevocably.

Gregory House, MD

Signed

* * *

"Aren't you a piece of work, Gregory House?" Cuddy uneasily laughed to herself as the words filled the vacant air around her. "I wonder what you are up to, this time. Another prank of yours?" She asked, almost amused by his nerve, as she reached in the drawer for the small wrapped object and started tearing the tissue paper around it.

She placed it on her palm and her body slumped back into the chair. It was his iPod, with a small, yellow post-it note attached to its screen which ominously read, again in his trademark handwriting: _watch what you wish for_.

Cuddy willed her lips to become stone, her heart to stop beating and her trembling hands to stop shaking so she could finally push the ON button and find out what that message was all about.

Seconds later, but what seemed an eternity to her, the iPod screen came to life and she frantically started searching for the hidden, tormenting meaning. Gregory House was not a predictable man and if anything, he despised clichés. Music was his life, his sensual way of communication and if couldn't say it, he made sure someone else did it for him. Through music, through lyrics, through harmony. When Cuddy pressed play, to the only song recorded on that little device, her heart drained all the cruelty and bitterness of this world, in one sip.

His resignation letter was not a prank after all. In the next four minutes and eighteen seconds, Gregory House delivered the most devastating goodbye she had ever received, through the immortal genius of James Blunt's _Goodbye My Lover_. He had left. For real.

Paralyzed, as if the universe suddenly lost its momentum, Cuddy stared into the nothingness in front of her, absorbing his apology, his confession, his explanation, and his final goodbye. To her. To the life they shared.

He loved her.

He wanted Dylan.

Yet he left.

A scream froze on her lips. _Why?_

_

* * *

_

"James." Cuddy whispered, choking on her tears, into the phone receiver. "Please come."

"Cuddy, what happened?" Wilson asked in panic, his gut immediately tying into a knot. When he didn't hear a response from the other side, he remembered the number from his called ID and quickly asked. "Where are you? Are you in your office?"

"Mhm." She mumbled, unable to separate her lips and form a decent sentence. She was literally drowning in convulsive sobs.

"Stay there. I am on my way." Wilson expediently announced as he jumped to his feet and grabbed his car keys. He was out the door in no time, speeding his way to the PPTH.

Cuddy leaned heavily against the window behind her as if an invisible force pushed her. She didn't know if she had lost balance but her body suddenly got a will of its own. She slid against the window glass and hit the floor with a soft thud, and then the tears came, not in torrents like she had expected, not with loud sobs but one, two tears tracking down each cheek, slowly, while her shoulders shook. Soon after, the bitter tears were flowing steadily, silently, sojourning down the creases and ridges on her face in the semi-darkness of her sanctuary.

Not long after, Cuddy found herself huddled in a tight ball on the office floor. She hugged her knees close, and through tear filled eyes, she stared and sobbed at his iPod that lay on the floor in front of her. The song title stared back at her, taunting her with the fate that was now hers. Remembering one of the lines in the song, she whispered into the silence of her office. "We are not fine, House. We are not fine."

That was how Wilson found her, curled up and delirious, as he stormed into the hospital and frantically opened the door to her office. A heap of grief repeating incomprehensible words. He had no idea what had happened but his gut instinct told him it wasn't good; as a matter of fact it seemed tragic. Wilson quickly walked over and crouched on his knees. He held her in his arms, no words, no pats on the back, he just put his arms around her and held her to his chest and rested his head on hers. She stiffened when he finally mustered the strength to ask. "Lisa, what happened?"

She didn't respond but her small frame started violently shaking in sobs. Wilson was helpless. He frantically looked around for any sort of clues, for an answer that would explain his friend's desperate state and then he noticed a crumpled sheet of paper and House's iPod in front of him. With his left hand he picked up the paper while still holding Cuddy protectively close. He started reading in disbelief. Then it hit him just like it had hit her.

House had left. _For good_.

Automatically he reached for the phone in his pocket and dialed his best friend. As suspected, his cell phone was off. Trying his luck again, Wilson dialed his home number but the automated female voice on the other side, notifying him that he subscriber line had been discontinued by request, sent chills down his spine. Suddenly, it all made sense; the unimaginable puzzle was complete. House's refusal to accompany him to his parents' house for holidays and their 40th wedding anniversary, his tasteless remarks about Jewish families and their traditions, his deliberate ways of striking the sensitive chord were all a part of his devious plan. He ran away, locked in his inability to release emotions and ask for forgiveness, this time forever. Wilson hated himself for not seeing it coming; he hated himself for giving him space to pull a stunt like that, to hurt those who loved him most and to burn all bridges behind him, both personal and professional ones. Still he wondered, _what the hell happened while he was away? _

Cuddy's faint sobs brought him back and he looked at her. She was an emotional mess. He gently pushed the unruly curls off of her face and lifted her chin, aligning his eyes with hers. Then he pleadingly asked, tiptoeing around the issue of House's resignation. "Lisa, please tell me what happened."

One tear at the time she recounted everything that occurred on Friday afternoon and what she had discovered, today, when she walked into her office. Wilson listened carefully, truth and realization finally sinking in completely. House bailed; on himself, on love, on life, on pain. Wilson was now hundred percent sure of it.

Gently he placed his right arm under Cuddy's left armpit and lifted her to her feet.

* * *

A/N

This chapter is about the song House left on his iPod. To fully appreciate what he said and confessed to, in 4 minutes and 18 seconds, please check MissCuddles' profile for mp3 download or the YouTube link.

This _**IS**_ the rock bottom. We ride up from here. Nikki & Andie & Simone


	34. Tide

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 32~

**March 26th, Three months and two days after**

Cuddy's Office

"Thank you for entrusting the PPTH with such an important event. This is a great honor." Cuddy said as the officials from the National Association of Teaching Hospitals (NATH) sat across her, prepared and armed to discuss the upcoming conference the PPTH was chosen to host. Cuddy pulled the best and the brightest smile she had, or that her heart allowed at the moment, because getting this conference meant that as of next year her hospital could compete for the national Council of Teaching Hospital and Health Systems (COTH), which in turn meant a lot more donor money, popularity and prestige.

"Dr. Cuddy we believe that the _Northeast Regional Annual Council of Teaching Hospitals and Health Systems_ is in the right hands and that the PPTH is an excellent choice. Your hospital has had a roaring reputation for excellence in teaching and practice. You have an amazing group of dedicated doctors and renowned specialists and a wide range of patients travelling from within the state and the region. You were truly our first choice this year." Cuddy slightly squirmed at the term _specialist_ and her thoughts, for a brief second, wandered off. Her mind, or heart – she wasn't sure which, brought him back and a sharp tug in her chest reminded her just how much she had been missing him. Three months and two days, to be exact. Or, to be completely honest, twenty two years. _Damn you, House!_ she hissed to herself and focused back on her guests.

"Thank you, Mr. Yates. Let me just invite my valued colleague and the fellow Board member to help us out with the details." Cuddy quickly picked up the receiver and dialed the head of oncology, keeping her fingers crossed that he was, indeed, in his office. When he finally picked up, she exhaled in relief. "Dr. Wilson, good morning. This is Dr. Cuddy." Wilson recognized the urgency in her voice and immediately asked her if she was felling well, knowing how frail she had been lately. "Yes, thank you. If you are not with a patient right now could you please come to my office, the representatives from the NATH are here about the upcoming conference. Thank you." When Wilson confirmed that he would be there in a matter of minutes Cuddy thanked him and promptly hung up, simultaneously offering refreshments to her guests while they were waiting.

Four minutes later, almost out of breath, Wilson walked in carrying a large stack of files and folders for the meeting. He knew exactly how important this was for Cuddy; not only professionally but personally – it kept her mind busy and off of a certain missing diagnostician.

"Ms. Jo Allen Riley and Mr. Benjamin Yates, this is Dr. James Wilson, the head of Oncology and the permanent Board member here at the PPTH." Cuddy introduced the NATH representatives as Wilson walked towards them. In a very professional manner he extended his hand, greeting them and acknowledging their importance, and quickly sat down. He gave Cuddy a smile of assurance and opened his notes, ready to constructively contribute to the success of the upcoming conference.

"Dr. Wilson has been appointed the chair of the COTH's organizing committee, which includes the panel selection and the journal review." Cuddy explained to Ms. Riley and Mr. Yates, emphasizing Wilson's role and support. Truly, she wouldn't have survived without him in these past three months. He kept her alive, breathing and looking forward; keeping that flicker of hope alive - that House would return one day. Ever since December 24th, she had been living for that day; the day Gregory House returned. But with each passing day her life line had become thinner and thinner.

"And you Dr. Cuddy? Have you personally selected the participating hospitals?" Mr. Yates asked with unhidden curiosity, bringing her back from the tormenting daydream. Cuddy gawked at him, pulling all the necessary wit and intelligence from her inner being. Her professional judgment didn't have to suffer just because she was detoxing from Gregory House.

"Yes. With the organizing committee's help, of course," Cuddy said quickly, sorting her thoughts. Looking down at her notes, she proudly added. "Fifty hospitals have already confirmed their participation with their respective departments and we are awaiting the remaining ten to confirm within next two days. We are working with the number of 600 participants."

"Dr. Cuddy, this is truly remarkable of you. The diligence of this hospital's management reassures us that we have made the right choice. Moreover, given that your Diagnostics department's reputation extends beyond the borders of New Jersey, our Board has unanimously suggested this year's conference theme," Ms. Riley said probing Cuddy with her professional gaze. When Cuddy shyly nodded, Riley continued. "Healthcare, education and research: Building bridges through clinical diagnostics."

Cuddy felt as if someone stabbed her with a sharp kitchen knife; her worst nightmare had just materialized – the absence of Dr. Gregory House and his unique skill and talent. She immediately looked at Wilson, pleading for support with her blue, terrified eyes. If anything in this world could corner her, it was House and even now, when he was not there, she felt trapped by his omnipresent persona and overinflated ego. Dr. Lisa Cuddy, the first female hospital administrator, didn't want to miss the golden opportunity that had been so generously handed over to her by the NATH so she bit her lower lip and coldly delivered a lie.

"That sounds like an excellent idea. I will make sure that all departments are equally represented and that we cover all diagnostic angles," Cuddy said with fake optimism and looked at Wilson again. Without too much thinking he came to her rescue and quickly said, grinning widely. "Our medical students will highly benefit from the lectures."

"Then we are all set. We look forward to the Opening Ceremony on April 6th," Mr. Yates said as he slowly got up. Ms. Riley followed extending her hand to Wilson. "Meantime, if you have any questions do not hesitate to call us. Again, congratulations!"

"Thank you very much," Cuddy got up from her chair and extended her small hand in gratification. With a polite, rehearsed smile she added and escorted the small delegation out. "Your personal reassurance means a lot to the Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital."

* * *

Once alone in her office, Cuddy dropped the professional attitude and peeled off the mask of contentment like a layer off of an onion. She turned to Wilson and bared her soul.

"Any news?" Cuddy asked in a voice full of sorrow and hope. It was the same question she posed, every day for the past three months and two days, when they were alone.

"No. Nothing. I've contacted some of my friends on the West Coast but nobody has heard anything about him. Maybe he left the country," Wilson added in a whisper like he was willing himself not to believe in that possibility. When Cuddy buried her head in her palms he timidly added, "Being a polyglot and world renowned diagnostician, he could technically work almost anywhere he wanted."

She was well aware of this fact but all this time she refused to believe it; even now when Wilson finally uttered it, the idea of House escaping to another country just to run away from her and their past seemed strange. The ultimate question _why_ lingered on her lips but remained unspoken.

"What I don't understand is how he could have disappeared so quickly. I mean, only three days had passed since our fight and…" The words choked in her throat, "Oh God. I can't believe I drove him away. I wanted to apologize."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. Maybe he had planned it long before, and your fight was merely the last drop. This is House we are talking about," Wilson tried to reason with her but even he started doubting his own skills. With House gone, he was mentally out of shape.

"What you call the last drop I call the tsunami wave that royally screwed up my life. And I mean royally," Cuddy ironically said gesturing around her, implying that her life had gotten complicated in more than one way. Then she opened her purse and pulled out two small pills. Without keeping any pretenses she popped them in her mouth, dry swallowing them.

"What's that?" Wilson asked with an obvious concern, slightly frowning.

"I keep telling myself that there is a bright side to all of this, that things just can't get any worse than they already are. But every time I am proven wrong by my own uterus, which will never be able to bring me anything but menstrual cramps." Her monthly overdose on hormones made her extremely emotional and vulnerable but that didn't stop her from concealing the real truth from Wilson. She didn't take painkillers for her abdominal pain, although she needed them badly, but mood stabilizers; her daily fix of Valium.

"Don't you think you should take the rest of the day off and go home?" Wilson suggested with a small patronizing tone in his voice.

"Home is empty and silent. There is nothing for me there," Cuddy said brokenly remembering that, indeed, there was nothing waiting for her in that empty home. Suddenly she realized that her life was as empty as her home; bare walls, silence, and emptiness. Yet life had to go on and she firmly pressed her professional buttons. "And I have a lot of work to do. _We_ have a lot of work to do!"

"OK," He dropped the subject like a hot potato and switched into the professional mode, "Where do you wanna start?" He asked flipping through his notes.

"How on Earth am I supposed to bring House here to lecture? Oh, wait - I won't," Cuddy said ironically with a sour smile on her face. Then she placed her palms on the desk and focused the red-rimmed gaze on the computer screen in front of her. "So I guess we must figure out how to stop the guys from the NATH from taking my license away when they find out that the main reason why they chose PPTH as the host for this conference no longer works here."

"Lisa," Wilson called her by her first name so obviously pleading with her to terminate the self-destruction path and look for alternative options.

"Come on, James. Don't give me one of your _'we can work this through, things will be just fine'_ self-help speeches because today I am really not in the mood for that," Cuddy said more abrasively than she had intended. Then she softly and apologetically added, "I just can't handle it."

Wilson shook his head and, with all the patience in the world, added, "I was not trying to use any of my traditional mantras, Cuddy. I just wanted to remind you that even though House is gone, and I mean professionally gone for now, he had left a well-trained puppy to take care of his lair during his absence."

"Foreman?" She drew her eyebrows together exposing the two vertical lines that formed every time she had some sort of dilemma. "Do you think he is…?"

"Capable of handling this? Remember what you told me when you decided to give him that thorny mission of being House's watchdog?" Wilson reminded her although he deeply believed that the only person capable of controlling House was actually sitting in front of him.

"Only someone so desperate to be like him could control the crowd in a Housian way..." Cuddy scratched her scalp with a pencil she was holding and then, as if an epiphany suddenly hit her, she locked her eyes with Wilson's and said, "Yeah, you're right. It might work."

"It will work. Call him, stroke his overinflated ego and make him believe he can outdo his master," Wilson cunningly suggested, laughing at himself for coming up with this. He imagined House's reaction to their plan and that made him miss his best friend even more. He would have ridiculed them mercilessly for this; until the day they died.

"He couldn't. He won't," She screeched in reply, frowning at the slightest chance of that idea becoming true.

"I know it, you know it, but he doesn't need to. Trust me, he will see it as a challenge and will put a lot of effort into it. Plus, this is the only option we have right now. Got a better one?" Wilson convincingly asked, leaving her no choice but to accept.

"No. You are right."

"Just remember. Don't give him too much power; make him a team player with benefits." The oncologist knowledgably warned and quickly looked down at his wristwatch.

With an honest urgency in his voice he said, "Hey, we have the committee meeting in 10 minutes and my notes are upstairs. Are you joining us?"

"Yes. I'll be there as soon as am I done with Foreman," Cuddy replied, adjourning the meeting with a single gesture of her small hand.

Wilson nodded in understanding and hurriedly walked out of her office, leaving his boss to stare at the phone. When the devious plan finally crystallized in her brain she asked her assistant Michelle to page Dr. Forman.

_Twenty minutes later._

After explaining the details of her plan and what she expected from him and the diagnostics team, Cuddy reemphasized her point.

"I know you quit once because you refused to be like House but right now I need you to make your worst nightmare come true, let your inner monsters loose, and be as close to him as you possibly can."

"And why can't House be the originally brilliant and miserable version of himself? You never told us about his whereabouts..." Forman insisted, personally intrigued.

"Eric, you are smart enough to know that if I haven't mentioned House's resignation there are possibly two reasons. Either I have absolutely no idea or I actually don't want talk about it."

"Or... both?" Forman asked cockily in a clear Housian manner, arching one of his eyebrows.

"And you just gave me the confirmation I needed; House trained you well enough, my license is safe. The Diagnostics Department will run as a team from now on and you will be the team leader. You report directly to me. Understood?" She asked with a professional determination, barely hiding how much she distrusted and disliked him for stepping into House's shoes, even if by pure luck.

Forman nodded, slightly shocked. He didn't expect to be entrusted with so much responsibility all of a sudden. When he finally opened his mouth to say something, Cuddy continued, "I expect the Diagnostics Team to prepare the cross-departmental panel for the upcoming conference, covering clinical diagnostics for at least 10 fields. Make use of Cameron and Chase; I expect them to fully cooperate now that we are short-staffed. You have a week and I expect you to deliver. Now, go! I have some calls to make."

She visually escorted Foreman out and closed her eyes. House's image appeared as soon as the silence enveloped her. She couldn't help it. She missed him so much that his imaginary figure completely blurred her vision as her tears blinded her.

_She had no idea how to resolve the mystery and pain of his goodbye. He had no alibi, he had no courage, he had no reason but he did it anyway; he had left - where and why still haunted her. His goodbye was very subtle and simple, he had never intended to say it, and, she was sure, those words could not have crossed his lips. His love for her was an unspoken, painful truth cut in its beauty as soon as it was allowed to live. Did it die or had he taken it with him, wherever he may be?_

_A fog of sadness clouded her vision as she realized that she had passed the threshold of pain long ago as his absence was the longest winter she had ever lived. The lament and the memories had not left her since each time that the wind blew she breathed him, hallucinating him under the mantle of many sleepless nights. Maybe in the silence of his goodbye many promises were held, after all. _

Cuddy pulled out his iPod out of her purse and religiously revisited the temple of her pain, reminding her heart and mind, again, of those small things worth living for. She was not ready to give up on him; she wasn't sure if she would ever be.


	35. Tempus fugit, amor manet

Disclaimer - We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 33~

**April 6th, 5:30 PM Princeton University Grand Hall **

He was leaning against the wall, the annoyance on his face perfectly matching the feeling that pestered his soul - _boredom_. A man that had known, since very early in his life, all the good things this world could offer, Richard was finding it more and more difficult to feel genuinely excited about anything. Yet, he was sure he could list at least twenty temporal pleasures that would be better to his senses than attending this insufferable medical gathering.

Taking his perfectly manicured hand out of the Armani suit pocket, he swiveled his left wrist and stared at the overpriced Rolex in disbelief: _he had been there for less than ten minutes, and yet it felt like eternity._ A fuse of his chocolate brown hair fell over his eyes as he loosened the black Italian tie that choked him more and more with each passing minute. Black was definitely the color that suited him the best because it created a devilish, slightly mysterious aura around him, allowing him to play the seducing role anytime he wished. Although when he had ordered the exclusively tailored Armani three-piece suit especially for that event, almost a month ago, he had no intentions of seducing anyone. It was simply a matter of habit - the suit was the best one available and Richard Leon Devereaux III was never satisfied with anything less.

If he had been in a good mood, that night would have been the perfect opportunity for a small demonstration of the royal European charm that selflessly flooded his veins and radiated from each pore of his naturally tanned skin, affecting just about every human being around him: _men corroding in jealousy, and women burning in desire._ But the choice of an entirely black outfit also served as a nonverbal warning sign. He wanted to be alone.

Although the paycheck from Yale was not sufficient to provide his personal Learjet with fuel, he was really proud of his job as the Dean of Medicine at an Ivy League University; it provided him with a sort of fulfillment that he had never been able to find in any other aspect of his life. He personified all the charm, efficiency and tradition of Yale; like that fine, centuries-old moss coating the campus brick buildings.

Richard Devereaux shook his system out of lethargy and decided it was the time to slide back into his slick sociable mode and face the crowd, however not before an inspiring smoke-and-scotch session, of course. Turning on his heel he headed for the nearest exit, looking for an open space to light his favorite Cuban cigar and have a sip of scotch, preferably together.

_At least the scotch is good_, he thought to himself as he closed his eyes and inhaled the spring air deeply. The potent drink caressed his throat like a thick honey, creating a soothing sensation in his esophagus. The cool spring breeze blew steadily through his hair, leaving it childishly disheveled, as the delicious aroma of his _puro_ gradually relaxed him and he contemplated the idea of grabbing a bottle of scotch from the bar and sitting under one of the trees scattered around the enormous campus.

He found no reason; at least not good enough of a reason, to go back inside and further torture himself to eternal boredom until his curious emerald green eyes registered an image of another black figure, vertiginous and demanding attention like a black panther showing off her sharp claws.

Her bare leg, tinted with a satin luscious glow reached out from a Volvo front passenger door and met the pavement with a tiny click of the high heel she wore - Italian leather strappy black sandals. Lisa Cuddy unwound from Wilson's car with the gracefulness of a large feline. Reminiscent of a panther she strolled towards the Grand Hall - her hair the color of the sky above freely bouncing in delicate curls, her eyes an ocean blue-green, almond shaped and smoky, her face like fine porcelain carved from a goddess's impression. She looked absolutely radiant. Her make-up was minimal but impeccable. Her black satin dress hugged her hips with stunning perfection. The two thin straps held the top loosely in place over her invitingly rich bosom. The back was low cut, exposing her skin entirely, and finished just inches above her tail bone. In short, or from the mouth of every man that night, she looked like a sin.

Smell of a woman was the one thing that enchanted men and Cuddy made sure to hypnotize the people around her with the _Black Magic_ by Valentino; she was aware of her feminine power as she left the scent trail behind her yet it meant so little to her tonight.

Watching her enter the Grand Hall escorted by a painfully ordinary guy in a cheap tuxedo, Richard remembered the wise words of his uncle and rabbi Ben Devereaux: _Son_, he said, _never underestimate the wonders of divine creation_. God had been very generous in proving his point that night, Richard thought as he imagined her body, naked and entangled with his crumpling his expensive Egyptian cotton sheets. With that thought and a satisfied cocky grin he went back inside.

* * *

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, fellow physicians, administrators and donors. Welcome to the 49th Annual Northeast Regional Council of Teaching Hospitals and Health Systems and to the Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. My name is Lisa Cuddy, I am the Dean of Medicine and the PPTH hospital administrator and for the next seven days I will be your host." Cuddy paused as the crowed cheerfully applauded to her opening speech. She shyly lowered her eyes and took a deep breath.

Her voice matched the rest of her, hypnotizing him instantly. Her eloquent and confident tone only made her sexier; her attitude and body language replete with authority. She was obviously a powerful woman, and seducing her would be way more complex, and therefore challenging, than he had originally thought. That woman had the haughtiness of a noble, and his blue blood certainly related to that.

"I know how much people resent speeches so I will keep mine sweet and short. We don't want that crisp champagne to warm up. As the years of experience dictate, I would like to open this conference with the traditional dance. Just remember to watch your feet; I have picked the waltz for this occasion. Dance away and enjoy." With another great applause, and a wide smile on her face, she descended from the stage and headed towards her table. Richard, on the other hand, had other plans. When she finished her intoxicating speech declaring the ball opened, he fixed this tie and walked in her direction. She was not getting insulted by a bad dancer, not in his presence.

"Sorry for the blunt approach mademoiselle, but all the gentlemen around seem to represent a real menace to your lovely feet. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I allowed such disgrace to happen." Richard politely recited stopping Cuddy in her tracks. When she finally turned around and measured him lazily with her blue-green eyes, he added, "Richard Devereaux." He introduced himself as he took her hand and kissed it slowly, taking time to inhale her scent. She was all he had imagined she would be; an unconquerable fort.

"Lisa Cuddy, Dean of…" She said with a slight hint of confusion in her voice but his finger was faster than the words that came out of her mouth. His touch shocked her.

"Shhhh Lisa. Titles don't matter." He interrupted her with a husky, masculine voice. "Dance with me." He gently took her small hand in his and led her to the podium, in silence. However, if his eyes had been able to speak, the hall would have been echoing with one simple statement – _Lisa Cuddy, you will be mine_.

As they waltzed, Richard never failed to look for a deeper meaning behind the tremulous blue waters of her eyes. There was something gravely missing as if all the sorrow of this world descended in there and was waiting to break free, like a dam. Her unhappiness overwhelmed him as he realized that she had not played _hard-to-get_ with him, she just wasn't there.

With the dance winding down, he felt her slipping through his hands metaphorically and actually. Then he finally said, breaking the silence between them. "I would give a great part of my fortune just to know where your soul is right now." Richard Devereaux was, for the first time in his life, genuinely intrigued how such beautiful eyes could be so opaque and lifeless.

"Save your money, monsieur. _You _could never bring it back." Cuddy stepped away from him and graced him with a sincere look. Then with a fake coquetry she smiled and slightly curtsied. "Thank you for the dance."

His gaze followed her in awe. There was nothing reproachable or insulting about her yet for the first time he felt dismissed by a woman and that excited him. He smiled mischievously realizing that, after all, this night turned out very promising.

Richard leaned forward across the table as he took a sip of his scotch, enjoying the sight of Cuddy's delectable form as she got her champagne from the room caterer, and then again moved towards her table. She swayed her hips in a rhythm he was sure she knew elicited a specific response from any human male watching. She paused briefly to greet some older couples she seemed to have recognized before jumping in surprise. He watched as her eyes lit in excitement for the first time that night.

_On the other end of the hall, by Cuddy's table_

"You are still an irresistible minx, Lisa Cuddy!" A familiar voice exclaimed with a girlish giggle, making Cuddy turn around instantly.

"Oh my God! Laura!" Cuddy jumped in surprise, genuinely shocked to see her best childhood, high school and college friend standing in front of her as if no time had passed since the last time had seen each other. Cuddy brought her delicate hand to her lips, fighting the excitement and tears, at the same time.

"Hey baby girl." Laura stepped forward, extending her lean hands towards her friend and inviting her into a long-overdue hug. As if drawn by a magnet Cuddy obeyed and hugged her best friend, truly amazed by the memories it brought instantly.

"What are you doing here?" Cuddy whispered afraid that Laura could disappear.

"I think your bossy-ass invited me. Mount Sinai Hospital, New York City." Laura announced proudly with a devilish grin as they finally detached from each other.

"You work there?" Cuddy asked pleasantly surprised. Mount Sinai was a way bigger career opportunity than Princeton Plainsboro and she felt overwhelmingly proud for her _big sis_, as she used to call her even though she was only six months older than her.

"Ever since your swaying hips paved the success road for us mortals, miracles do happen. I am the Dean of Medicine there but you probably already knew that." Laura added humorously trying to bring down the slight discomfort that time had created between them.

"No. I didn't know that. I haven't heard anything about you since Daniel…" Cuddy stopped in the middle of her sentence mindful of the bitter memories; she hated inflicting pain on the people she loved. Yet the one she loved the most she hurt so deeply that he had to run away from her. With her next breath she inhaled him, knowing that he was breathing somewhere for her.

"…left me on our wedding day. Yeah, you can say it out loud now. I am finally over that; I moved on." Laura pointed out matter-of-factly making sure that Lisa understood that the subject in question was a closed topic, void of hurt and lament. Her childhood friend, knowing her so well indeed, picked up the cue.

"You look fabulous, by the way." Cuddy sincerely complimented as she measured her friend from head to toe. Her chocolate brown hair was shoulder-length and naturally wavy, her cheekbones high and her green eyes still resembled a mischievous cat. Her red _Moulin Rouge_ style gown accentuated her every curve and Laura knew that was her deadliest weapon. With a huge smile on her face, Cuddy added, "God, I am glad to see you."

"No, I was the one glad to see you, proud actually, dancing with the biggest catch of the party. Missy, you must have caused many jealousy heart attacks tonight. Every straight female in this room was green with envy. Well, except me, of course." Laura laughed in pure delight, enjoying every moment of their conversation and unintentionally lifting Cuddy's spirits too.

"Except you? Why would that be? Do you know him?" Cuddy asked with unhidden interest, slowly turning around and nonchalantly gazing towards Richard's table.

"Richard Leon Devereaux III, billionaire lecher and a proven heartbreaker. Beautiful women are his passion." Laura peered over her shoulder trying not to seem too obvious in spying on him. Then she added, remembering how she met the lecher billionaire. "He was my mentor at Yale. And I would have known his yacht, jet and his family in Luxembourg too if I could have dealt better with my aversion to that type of men."

"Oh, sooo not my type either but he is not too bad to look at." Cuddy giggled and grabbed Laura's hands, spinning her around. Richard was already enjoying their show; he didn't need to see their blushed faces.

"I know, right?! I guess Richard aimed at the wrong target tonight. Those amazing and sad green blue eyes of yours didn't even notice his him. You brushed him off coldly, Lisa." Laura pointed out while Cuddy smiled sadly, looking at the tip of her shoes. "Some things not even time can change, Lisa. Your eyes still give you away. What's going on?" She demanded an answer, as they walked towards their table.

"I…" Cuddy started but was quickly interrupted by another familiar voice behind her. She lazily turned around, welcoming Wilson into their company.

"Good evening, ladies." Wilson greeted politely, failing to take his eyes off of Laura. For a second he thought he was hallucinating and that she was just a product of his imagination. That's how strong her magnetism was.

Cuddy immediately slipped into her hostess mode and offered to introduce them, facing Wilson first. "James, this is Dr. Laura Rubin. Dean of Medicine at Mount Sinai and my best friend." Then she turned to Laura and winked at her, noticing her immediate interest in the young oncologist. "Laura, this is Dr. James Wilson, head of oncology, board member and my other best friend."

"Mount Sinai, you say? I should get out more often." Wilson extended his hand, nervously waiting to touch her even for a second. When they did touch, in a simple greeting handshake, he literally felt electrocuted. So did she, by his simple unobtrusive charm.

"Are all your doctors trained in sweet talking?" Laura asked innocently, employing all her willpower to refrain from starting at James Wilson.

"Yes, it's part of their core curriculum." Cuddy wholeheartedly laughed; a mix of Valium, champagne and a set of witty friends did wonders for her. For the first time in four months she felt truly relaxed.

"Could I interest you in a glass of champagne?" Wilson asked with the politeness of a true gentleman and the man on a mission.

Giggling like two teenage girls, Lisa and Laura whispered something between them and then loudly said, "Sure."

When Wilson was finally out of sight, Laura opened up, words flowing out her irreversibly. "One of the top five oncologists in the country and sexy as hell. I don't know how do you do it, Lisa. Where do you get those resumes? Do all of them come with charm and wit like Dr. Wilson? Can I take him with me?"

"Oh God, you haven't changed, not even a bit." Cuddy noticed with a girlish admiration and offered her friend another hug. She truly missed her and needed her all these years. "And I'm glad for that."

"No, I haven't." Laura laughed back at Cuddy's statement, her eyes lighting in excitement. The prospect of knowing James Wilson better made her all jittery. "Seriously, you have to tell me all about your sources, because when I finally manage to hire somebody brilliant and handsome to join my old aged and boring staff, he just resolves to move to Africa. It's like a curse."

"Who are you talking about? Laura, you're not having an affair with an employee, are you?" Cuddy asked with a fake outrage and reprimand, giggling harder and harder with each word.

"God Lisa, you know that Gregory House was never my type. He is funny, brilliant and a sight for sore eyes, but too raw for my taste. I'd hate to lose him but it's admirable that he has taken the humanitarian initiative through our Global Health Center, don't you think?" Laura stated with the purest oblivion there was; ignorance was bliss indeed.

Cuddy froze to the mention of his name. For a second she thought she had imagined it and that her mind was playing tricks on her, so she repeated, stopping her hands from shaking. "House? Dr. Gregory House? You know where he is?"

"You don't?" Laura raised one of her eyebrows, suddenly realizing that all the previous entertainment abruptly came to an end. Lisa's voice turned into liquid ice and her overly pale, porcelain face demanded an answer. There was no mistake about it.

"Wait. House works for you?" Cuddy asked in one breath, fearing that if she let go, the possibility of ever finding him would disappear in a second.

"Yeah. Well, sort of. He has been working for our Global Health Center in New York. As of tomorrow he will be working in the field. In Darfur, Sudan." Laura recited as if she was shooting a travel advertisement for CNN.

"Oh my God! Darfur?" Cuddy covered her scream with her small hand before it reached the ears of all those present. Her mind was frantically working, trying to process the influx of information. "House is in Africa?" She finally asked unable to wrap her mind around that idea. _He will surely die there_, she thought to herself as she expected Laura to open her mouth.

"Technically not yet. He is leaving tonight." She said calmly, then asked purely interested in the story behind the inquisition. "Why? What's with you and House?"

"Tonight? When?" Cuddy raised her voice impatiently, holding onto that small thread of hope that Gregory House was not lost for her.

"I am not sure exactly. I know that the team leaves tonight from JFK." Laura replied honestly still confused by her best friend's change in behavior. _Was Gregory House responsible for the sorrow in her eyes?_, Laura asked herself before delivering another question to Cuddy, stomping her feet in annoyance and panic. "Why is this so important to you? Lisa, answer me!"

"I need to stop him and you need to help me. Laura, please don't ask why, just help me." Cuddy grabbed Laura by her shoulders and locked her gaze with hers, silently pleading.

"OK. What do I need to do?" Laura asked as they approached her table, ready to execute any kind of devious plan her friend asked her to.

"Find out when his flight is and his address in New York. I am begging you. Can you do that for me?" Lisa Cuddy was trembling and the hot tears threatened to fall any second. Laura noticed that Cuddy choked on her tears but was brave enough not to let them fall. Yet. She was falling apart before her eyes and Laura, suddenly, felt extremely sorry for bringing her into this position.

"Yes, Lisa…but?" A question got stuck in Laura's throat but the overwhelming sorrow in Cuddy's eyes prevented her from inquiring further. Instead she searched for her little purse, in pursuit of a functioning cell phone.

"Laura, please." Cuddy pressed her fingers against her lips and waited; for a miracle to happen.

"All right missy. Calm down. I am on it." Laura reassured her, stroking her hand up and down her arm, warming up the chill that suddenly invaded Cuddy's body. For ten minutes Cuddy stood, frozen in silence while Laura tried to save her soul. Finally she hung up the phone and turned to her, noticing a flicker of hope in her eyes.

"He lives on the Upper East Side, right next to Mount Sinai. 16 East 98th Street at Carnegie Hill." Laura said triumphantly, handing her a piece of paper. "The flight leaves at 11:25PM from JFK's Terminal 5." Laura immediately glanced at her wristwatch, trying to lightly add some humor to it. "It's 6:13 right now, and if you want to stop him you have to move that cute ass quickly."

Just then Dr. James Wilson came back with two flutes of golden crisp champagne. It was the jumpstart Cuddy needed and she approached him with determination. "Give me your car keys!"

"Where are you going?" Wilson asked in confusion as if House himself appeared in front of him. Only Gregory House could leave him dumbfounded like this.

"To get House!" Cuddy said nervously, failing to believe her own words. _Was she really going to get him?_

"Whoa, you know where House is?" Wilson's eyes grew larger with each syllable he uttered not believing his own ears.

"Can somebody tell me what's going on here?" Laura asked, observing from the sidelines. Literally.

Cuddy and Wilson responded in unison, focusing back on each other. "Not now!" Then Cuddy explained in one short, complete sentence about House's brilliant plan. "The idiot thinks he is going to Africa."

"OK, can I at least have the champagne?" Laura asked annoyed by their behavior as she tugged the flute out of Wilson's hand.

"What the hell is House going to do in Africa? Go on a safari?" Wilson asked, almost to himself, as he imagined the crippled lunatic roaming around the deserts of Africa.

"Good one!" Laura chuckled as she took a sip of her champagne.

"Not even that, if it's up to me. Give the damn keys, James!" Cuddy demanded in her bossy tone tugging the second flute out of his hand and pouring it down her throat, in one gulp. For courage.

"You want me to come with you?" Wilson sympathetically asked while giving her the keys.

"No. I drove him away, I need to bring him back." She delivered seriously, determined to correct some of her shortcomings finally. "Plus I need you and Laura to help cover my ass here," she said as she waved to her personal assistant Michelle to bring her pashmina and her bag from the table.

"Sure. What do we need to do?" Laura asked, happy she finally got the attention back.

"Laura, please help James with the charity raffle and James please do the closing speech on my behalf." Cuddy's administrative mind never rested, not even when she was on the mission of saving her own soul; her life; her love; her mere existence._ In all honestly, one thing had to be granted to this woman – she could multitask._ Placing her small hand on her PA's back, she added. "Michelle will guide you though."

"Lisa…" Wilson called her, catching her in the door. With all honesty and love he had for that miserable asshole, he pleaded, "Please bring his stubborn ass back, will you?"

"Make me a reservation in a good Darfur hotel in case I get to NYC too late, but he's coming with me, dragged by his cane if necessary." Cuddy smiled as those little amazing dots in her eyes started dancing again; the dance of hope. She grabbed her dress by the sides, lifted it up, and ran out of the Grand Hall like her life depended on it. And it did, in more than one way.

* * *

A/N As promised, we ride up! Nikki, Andie **&** Simone.


	36. New York Tango

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 34~

**16 East 98th Street, Carnegie Hill, New York City, 07:53PM**

With determined ferocity Lisa Cuddy double parked her friend's Volvo in front of a Manhattan post-war style building and quickly exited it, mindful of her long dress. Within five or six steps she found herself staring at a closed door, trying to figure out how to get in without randomly buzzing the tenants. To her salvation, a couple minutes later, an old lady came out with her Cocker Spaniel and Cuddy sneaked in, resolved to search just about every floor if she had to.

"Ma'm, wait! Where are you going?" A man in his late sixties, with a perfectly ironed maroon pants and a white shirt stopped her politely. He beamed with professionalism and old-school manners, "You can't go in unannounced."

"Oh. I am sorry," Cuddy jumped in surprise and looked around, deducing with her senses where the voice had come from. Then she noticed the doorman and instantly came up with a cunning plan in order to prevent an alarming situation. "I normally don't do this but I have to ask you for two huge favors," she said, quickly opening her purse.

"What kind of favors?" The old man cocked his eyebrow, intrigued by her behavior and her stunning beauty. He wasn't accustomed to gorgeous, demanding women strolling in his apartment building like that.

"OK. First you have to tell me if Gregory House lives in this building and has he left yet?" Cuddy replied, refusing to budge an inch. If her plan was to work she needed some information first.

"And why should I do that?" The doorman clearly decided to play her game. There was nothing wrong in spicing up his boring Friday night.

Without unnecessary stalling, Cuddy fished for a hundred dollar bill in her purse and mischievously added, bringing forth her best smile. "Because I will make it worthwhile if you do."

The man's eyes sparked in an instant and he delivered, without hesitation sensing that this woman was all about business. "Yes, he lives here. And no, he hasn't left yet."

"Thank you. First favor, could you skip the announcing part and tell me which apartment he is in? Second, and I would really appreciate it, could you help me find a parking space because I double parked in front of your building and it will be minutes before the car is towed away?" Cuddy chirped as she handed him the bill, dangling her car keys in the other hand.

"I hope Dr. House is glad to see you because I'd really like to keep my job." The man said with a smile, taking the keys from her.

"He better be." Cuddy returned the smile and fluttered her eyelashes.

"Knock him down, ma'm. Apartment 9F, the elevator is to the right. The keys will be here, with me. I am here until 8:00am tomorrow morning," he said, hoping in all honesty that she could work her charm on the grumpy doctor as she did with him.

"Thank you." Cuddy responded, already turning her back on the older man, grabbing the dress by the sides and running towards the elevator.

* * *

Cuddy stepped into the small elevator, trying to calm the butterflies down in her stomach as she pressed the button 9. The ride was painfully slow yet before she knew it she was standing in front of 9F. A familiar sound welcomed her; House was playing his guitar. She could hear him humming to the melody, preparing to sing and there was nothing more in the world she wanted but to hear him. Her heart decided for her and she gently pressed her ear against his door to hear the lyrics.

_Bury all your secrets in my skin. Come away with innocence, and leave me with my sins._

_The air around me still feels like a cage and love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage again._

She scooted closer to his door determined to absorb every single word that crossed his lips; she missed his voice terribly for the last four months and now, when he was singing his heart out, it made her ache even more. He did love her but the barricades within prevented him from admitting it. This was enough for her, for now.

_So if you love me, let me go and run away before I know._

_My heart is just too dark to care, I can't destroy what isn't there._

He was singing this song for her, there was no doubt about it anymore. As if somehow he knew she was standing in front of his door. He desperately wanted to run away from her, from their life, from their love. Why? She couldn't fathom the answer to that question as the lyrics made her shiver in anticipation.

_Deliver me into my fate, if I'm alone I cannot hate_

_I don't deserve to have you…_

_Ooh, my smile was taken long ago, if I can change I hope I never know._

He was already a changed man, she understood it now. He allowed himself to love and to hurt in return yet for some inexplicable reason he believed he hadn't deserved her. Was that the rationale behind his decision to run away? _Truths used to be a lot simpler_, she told herself trying to stop the stubborn tears from falling.

_I still press your picture to my lips and cherish it in parts of me that savor every kiss._

_I couldn't face a life without your light but all of that was ripped apart, when you refused to fight._

Her picture; her black and white portrait that went missing from her desk. It all made sense now. He took it with him, the same way he took her heart out and ran away with it into the darkness. The idea of Gregory House stealing her picture just to have a memory of her made her smile. He knew he was going to miss her and she suddenly dared to hope; big, unimaginable hopes. If she had refused to fight then, she was surely ready to fight now.

_So save your breath, I will not hear. I think I made it very clear._

_You couldn't hate enough to love. Is that supposed to be enough?_

Once again, her insides contracted in a hurried pace much the same way as her breathing increased in momentum. The love of her life was on the other side of that door and she couldn't decide whether she was happy or sad. Gregory House never made that an easy choice; he was a complicated man to the last fiber in his body.

_I only wish you weren't my friend. Then I could hurt you in the end._

_I never claimed to be a Saint..._

_Ooh, my own was banished long ago, it took the __**death of hope**__ to let you go._

She wanted to scream '_what hope, House' _as his voice vibrated inside of her, rendering her speechless, motionless. He was hoping, maybe even more than her, and yet they managed to do nothing about it, except to hurt each other and tear everything apart, almost irreparably.

Then she heard his cell phone ringing and his dismissive voice, seconds after. He had no patience with whoever was on the other line. It brought her back from bittersweet reverie and she quickly mustered the courage and brought her small shaky fingers to his door. She finally did it; she knocked on the wooden panel of truth, awaiting her destiny.

Cuddy looked around her, extremely anxious, as his cane-assisted steps thudded in her ears. Her heart was racing, creating a lump in her throat, and her palms were sweaty and itching as she contemplated their meeting. _Was it better to know the truth or live her life in oblivion?_, she asked herself imagining his face and his beautiful blue eyes. The truth was just a swinging door away from her.

Lifting his heavy gaze, as he opened the door, he saw her. She was like an ethereal vision in black satin. There she stood, her skin glowing like shimmer; her eyes large and lustrous and her curls, which she apparently combed with her fingers just seconds ago, like the proverbial Pablo Neruda trying to envelop the moon. House stood rooted to the spot drinking her body with his eyes, inhaling her intoxicating scent. _Was she really standing in front of his door or was she a haunting product of his deranged imagination?_, he asked himself blinking nervously. One thing was certain; someone somewhere heard his muffled prayers, rendering them true. It seemed to him that a nymph from the high heavens had descended on the earth to feast his eyes and only his eyes.

He made a step closer to her, looking deep inside her eyes; beyond them, almost inside her soul. A light smile of shock and surprise hovered on her lips. He knew then that she cared for him but _being House_ meant pushing limits and drawing claws, in resistance. Instead of a warm welcome, he spewed a verbal sarcasm.

"You should have let me finish the song before knocking. The last part really suits you." House said pretending not to be surprised and overwhelmed by her presence. Hiding his true feelings was his invaluable and timeless talent.

"Good to see you too, House." Cuddy wasn't surprised by his cold welcome; she expected it when she had decided to fight for him. Breaking his steel-clad walls would be her greatest challenge. She cocked her head and asked provocatively, "What does it say, the last part?"

"Wow!" House exhaled quickly, masking his excitement with fake surprise. "Do you want me to recite it verse by verse, or you just want the general idea?"

"Surprise me," she said playfully, accepting his game.

House gladly recited the last few lines, almost like serenading her with a poem; however he particularly accentuated the lines that he knew would stir a great dose of guilt in her:

…_So break yourself against my stones, and spit your pity in my soul, you never needed any help, you sold me out to save yourself…_

Before she could protest, he added coldly, "And I don't want you to tell me or do anything, except to get the hell out of here and let me take my plane." He could not stand her pity.

"Yeah? Remind me, since when am I taking orders from you?" Cuddy retorted, pulling the pashmina tighter around her and crossing her arms. Then, remembering why she came in the first place, she fired without letting him take cover. "I managed to shorten a 2-hour drive to 1 hour and 30 minutes on a Friday night, risking my life to get here just to stop _you_ from doing this idiocy. So, now you are listening to me whether you want it or not."

House placed his left hand on the doorframe and slightly leaned against it, taking a better view of her enchanting figure. Her scent had already hypnotized him. "I have no idea which disturbed reasons compelled you to break a bunch of traffic laws to come here and screw with my trip but _me_ asking you, surely wasn't not one of them."

"If you want to hide in Africa and end your already miserable life while pretending to be the great Bono Vox, be my guest, but you are listening to me first." Cuddy was determined to get him out of his shell, even for a brief second, just enough to poke a stick inside and make him open up.

"Apparently, I don't have a choice, do I?" House ironically asked, sounding very predictable to himself. _She must have read me like an open book_, he thought while refusing to take his gaze off of her. Four months without her presence was a pure torture.

His statement infuriated her although she had seen it coming. Angrily, Cuddy pointed out, "You have the same choice you gave me almost four months ago, House. And now you use this song to accuse me of running away?"

"Wasn't that what you wanted? Wait. Did I hallucinate the part where you slapped me and threw me out of your hospital?" he asked, almost feeling the sting of her fingers on his cheek. "I don't remember taking enough Vicodin for that."

He could see her blood boiling under her skin but she refused to budge and that amazed him even more. The old Cuddy was back and that brought him a lot of pleasure. Her next sentence, however, brought him stumbling down in cold sweat. "You insulted me by using my ... our dead son's name, and you expected me to do what? To bow my head and cry?" Cuddy reminded him of that afternoon; the afternoon he had tried to forget ever since. "I thought you knew me better than that, if I had been armed I would have shot you, House."

Refusing to show her how much he hurt himself by hurting her, House quickly deflected. After all it was the skill he mastered to perfection. "What's the point of bringing this up anyway?"

"I didn't need any help? I sold you out to save myself?" Cuddy had come this far and she refused to let go. If fighting meant explaining the meaning of each uttered word, she was ready for an all-night hallway soliloquy. "Don't project your shortcomings on me, House. I _did_ need your help but you just were not the man enough to give it. You didn't have the guts to come to my office and do what I'm doing right now."

"And what on earth makes you think I need your help?" He quickly hid behind his deflecting skills, again. She was right and he wasn't ready, yet, to acknowledge it.

"The fact that you didn't let me speak to myself in the hallway and that your cab driver has been honking outside for the last 10 min. The fact that you are giving up one thing that matters the most to you, your career, just to run away from me. The fact that you were playing a song that has clearly been inspired by us. The fact that you stole my photo." She raised her eyebrow as if asking his permission to proceed with her valid arguments, asking him if he needed more proof.

"But you didn't know any of this when you left Princeton, except for my trip." There was no way he was going to admit stealing her photo. Not even if she subjected him to a medieval-style torture.

"Shit, Greg, is that what you want to hear, despite you clearly reciting it minutes ago?" Cuddy added in a very pissy voice, piercing him with her glowing eyes. "I'll say it then, _I still care_. I never stopped caring. And I couldn't let you go without knowing that. I had to make it harder for you to screw up your life."

"Why?" The three-letter word was the only sound House managed to push past his lips. For the first time he was truly and utterly speechless. A woman disarmed him, rendering him verbally impotent.

"You hate humanity. What's the point in being a humanitarian, then?" She asked convincingly, knowing in advance that he would not answer her question.

"Why do you care?"

"You are running away."

"I can't run. Thanks to you." He pointed to his leg, extracting the guilt from her like venom.

"Don't you dare…" She raised her index finger, almost threatening him. By God, he was not going to suck her into the guilt vortex again.

"I think I just did. Are you planning to stand in the hallway all evening?" House asked unexpectedly. Now it was her turn to be speechless. She opened her eyes wider and stared at him, like he had just grown a pair of horns.

"I still have manners, Dr. Cuddy. Don't just stand there, come in. The neighbors must be enjoying the show already, and one more round of this conversation and I'll have to charge for the spectacle. You know, their pay-per-view expired." For the first time since she had miraculously appeared that evening he smiled. Even if it was to himself, he smiled.

"You never had manners, House. And I will come in only if give me your word that you are not leaving." Cuddy verbalized her demands very loudly on purpose, so every tenant in that building could hear her clearly.

"Oh, come on in, woman." House gently tugged her by her arm, sending a set of delicate chills down their spines. Then he quickly peeked down the hallway to see if someone had been listening. "If I decide to stay in the mainland USA I'll probably have to find another place to live after that performance of yours. You screech like a hyena."

"Learned from the best." She intentionally stroked his ego as she walked in his small apartment. It felt like home. His home. "So, you are really staying?" The lingering question was finally out, allowing Cuddy to glow in her girlish enthusiasm.

Limping, he turned around and faced her again, exploring her body with his eyes. "I didn't say that." Then he pointed to her pashmina and cynically said, "You can take off your blanket. I didn't believe it either but this shitty place actually has heating."

When she unwrapped herself from the long Indian scarf, like a delicious candy, House's jaw almost dropped to the floor. His eyes couldn't hide his excitement and impression, any longer but he had to come up with something witty, otherwise his silence would mean – surrender. And Gregory House never willingly surrendered. "Whoa! Where do you think you are going dressed like that? 42nd St?"

"Well, at least, I don't always look like an unmade bed. And coming from you that must be a compliment. Thank you." She fluttered her eyelashes, extremely pleased with the effect she had left on him.

"You are welcome." House said, clearing his throat. Her raving beauty almost made him stutter so he decided to get even. "By the way, you…" he motioned with his fingers up and down her dress "…unmade. You should try it sometimes."

Cuddy instantly blushed, feeling the heat at the roots of her hair, and quickly averted her gaze. This was the time to change the subject because the unfamiliar territory she was grazing was extremely dangerous. And if she wasn't careful, she could easily fall into his trap. "I want to listen to that song again. There are still some verses I need to protest about."

"I'm not singing it for you. You can download it from iTunes." He devilishly grinned knowing full well he had achieved the desired effect. She blushed before his eyes and he loved it.

"You are such a bastard, House," she said jokingly, finally feeling her muscles relax from the anticipation spasm. The hardest part was over.

"Something you apparently relate to." He backfired, instantly making her change the subject again. His mind was way too sharp and alert, and although she loved it immensely, she had to be on the lookout. She was never sure when it could bite her. Last time it did, December 21st, she cried the gallons of tears out. This time she knew better.

"Whatever. I knew you needed a place to hide, but Africa is so not you. Why Africa?" She tiptoed around the real reason of his resignation but she didn't know how to ask it, without being blunt and emotionally exposed.

"Mongolia, North Korea and South Pole were already packed." House responded, making a funny face, almost refusing to be serious about it. He was having fun. With her. Again.

"How were you planning to survive there?" Cuddy asked, genuinely interested. A mere image of him in the deserts of Africa disturbed her, on so many levels.

"Maybe I wasn't," he said honestly because living away from her, wasn't living at all. Not anymore. Not after he got to taste her; watch her sleep; watch her enjoy nurturing his child in her womb. Yet, he couldn't have her know all that. "I am still trying to understand why you care, though?"

"Surprised you can't figure out everything?" she responded unintentionally hard, sensing that something had changed, then and there. As if regret swelled in his voice.

"No, I pretty much got used to the idea since you shoved it in my face, last time." And then he teleported himself back to that day; the day of anguish and targeted cruelties; the day he decided to leave at the price of losing his soul.

"What the hell were you going to do there, anyway?" Cuddy skillfully tried to avert their thoughts from that afternoon because it hurt more that she could bear.

"I was basically planning to share what ever is left of my formerly amazing gift with the rest world, giving back what I once received." He said in all sincerity because it was everything he wanted to do after losing her. Life after Lisa made no sense, so if his automated humanity could have helped people around the world, he was willing to sacrifice whatever was left of him for it.

"Seriously, House. Treating TB? Not even Cameron could stand that for more than a week." Cuddy refused to believe that Gregory House would intentionally self-destruct and burn while doing what he loved the most; diagnosing people and solving puzzles.

He reached over to the coffee table and grabbed a manila folder; locking his eyes with hers, as if to justify himself, he handed her his _doctors-without-borders_ job description. "Did you pack your Vicodin case?" Cuddy asked, realizing that he was serious about this mission, after all.

"Shipped a truck-load of it last week. It must have already arrived. I hope starving kids don't confuse it with tic-tac." House replied, with an almost sour taste in his mouth. Sarcasm didn't seem to kick in.

"A place with no cable to watch your stupid soaps, no internet to watch porn, no good roads to speed on your bike, and probably no piano to play. That was a brilliant plan, exactly what you needed." Cuddy stated, rolling her eyes in fake amazement.

"I needed peace." House admitted brokenly.

"You can find it anywhere." Cuddy pushed her sharp stick an inch deeper. She silently prayed he would open up and finally talk to her.

"If it's so easy, why didn't you find some for yourself?" House asked, clearly annoyed.

She didn't push far enough and his response wasn't what she had in mind. Stepping away from the minefield, she changed the subject, allowing them both some familiarity. "Why don't you stop being a jerk and offer me something to drink?"

"I have no tea. If you want to wet your throat, be prepared to damage your hepatic cells as well." He got up from the couch they were sitting on and walked towards the makeshift mini-bar. He worked his magic through the choice of alcohol, looking for some clean glasses.

"Who said I wanted tea?" Cuddy asked cockily, measuring his broad back and lean legs from the short distance.

"I have no wine here," House said lifting the liquor bottles one by one. "I think there is still some Gin left in here and some Martini. You up for a Martini?"

Cuddy ogled the bottle in his left hand and confidently said, "I'll go for bourbon, cowboy. And make it a double."

"Whoa whoa whoa, it feels like someone has drastically changed their _sissy white wine French champagne taste_. Hey, better late than never!" House said mockingly as he handed her a glass full of golden liquid.

"Life has not been _white wine, French champagne_ material in a long time." she replied sorrowfully, counting her losses as she drowned a large gulp. Her dry throat instantaneously welcomed the sensation it received.

"Should we toast?" he sarcastically asked her, swirling the liquid in his glass rhythmically.

"Can you really find a reason to?" she replied bitterly, her eyes veiling her sorrow.

"Don't think so." House wiggled his nose in negation, and then added dramatically. "On the other hand, the lack of reason gives me a very good reason to empty the bottle. Let's hope it kills something inside of me."

Cuddy winced to his last remark trying to decipher what he had exactly meant by _killing something inside of him_. She hoped it had nothing to do with her or with his declaration, no matter how unusual, of love to her.

"I hope you have learned how to share." Cuddy stated, waving the empty glass in front of him.

"What are you doing?" House asked with a smirk on his face and a slight hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Asking you to fill my glass. Isn't that obvious?" Cuddy replied, confused.

"No, I mean here. What are you doing here? Judging by your outfit you should be somewhere else; doing something else. You know, the kind of things I have absolutely no interest in knowing. Yet, you are sitting on my couch, greedily drinking my booze and pissing me off." House cynically said, withdrawing behind his emotional walls. He was not ready to let her in yet.

Gregory House was an unpredictable creature, yet, knowing him better transformed him into a creature of habit. Every time he approached the threshold of emotional gates, he backed out. He deliberately closed himself in, helplessly drowning in his pain and solace. Tonight was not different.

Pissing him off was the only way to get him out to fight. "If you had succeeded in hiding the hunger in your eyes when you opened the door, and kept your throat from dry swallowing the gulp that instantly formed inside of it, I would believe that you are not interested in me whatsoever. Since you hadn't, I'll just be nice and inform you that I was supposed to be at the COTH Conference Opening Ball, at PPTH."

"Jesus, you are not only annoying, you are presumptuous. You think I give a damn about you because your indecent outfit made me hard? Just for the record, Lisa Cuddy, almost every stripper in NYC would've done the same."

"Probably, knowing how easy you are, but you don't imagine any of them when you jerk off, do you? It's my body you crave, it's my name that slips your lips when you cum on your hands, you asshole." Cuddy delivered in one breath, spiting venom and truth with each uttered word.

Yet House was sensitive to truth or someone proving him wrong, and the only way to defend himself was to counterattack. "Maybe, that's what you want, sex. Can't find a man to satisfy you, right? I can give you some numbers, escort agencies, who knows maybe they have male professionals too?"

"You know what?" Cuddy asked with a disgust expression on her beautiful face, draining the rest of her bourbon. "Screw you! I'm out of here." She got up, lifted her dress and walked towards the foyer, looking for her purse and her shawl.

"Hey Cuddy, wait." House grabbed his cane and limped after her, determined not to let her out of his life this time.

"Get the hell out of my face or I'll make your left leg match the right one, you bastard." She pushed by him, struggling to open the door.

"You are drunk!" He pointed out, placing his palm against the door and therefore preventing her from leaving.

"So are you." Cuddy childishly replied, feeling his breath on her neck.

"Yeah, that's why none of us is driving tonight." House used the last atoms of his strength to act decently and reason with her. Her warm body, just inches away from his, was sinfully tempting. Giving in to the alcohol-induced desires was never a good idea.

"Since when do you give a damn?" She wiggled under him like a trapped cat.

"I don't. But if you already haunt me alive, I can imagine what you would do dead, coming back to pull my leg while I'm sleeping. Come back here you conniving wench, you can crash on my couch." He dragged her by the upper arm, feeling her willingly follow him. "We'll talk in the morning, when you sober up."

"I swear to God you must be bipolar." Cuddy hissed, throwing her belongings on the couch.

"Yes, compared to you. You only come in one version - _the annoying one_. Now shut up and sit there while I get you some clean sheets and something to change into."

Minutes later he came back with a set of sheets, a pillow, a pair of sweatpants and his _Rolling Stones_ t-shirt; all freshly clean. As he was trying to set the items on the couch, Cuddy attempted to take off her strappy sandals. She unintentionally bumped into his body and caused them both to swivel, losing balance. He caught her around satin-hugged waist, bringing their faces dangerously close.

"I'm the crippled one, and you lose your balance?" House mischievously noted.

"Blame it on your bourbon." Cuddy replied, feeling the heat of his body penetrate her dress and her skin.

"I think I remember how this movie goes." He said as he leaned a bit closer, caressing her lips with his breath. "This is where we kiss."

Andf there he was, with his unique and delicious male scent recognizable among thousands of others, gently invading her nostrils and impregnating her senses. The same defiant and rebel teenage look, contrasted by the lines that time and pain had imprinted on his beautiful face, the reckless and inadequate outfit, old washedout Levi's jeans and a wrinkled black t-shirt. But above it all, those blue, icy eyes, the narrow and inviting windows to his locked-in soul, reminding her of the stubborn humanity he seemed to know how to camouflage, so well.

"We already did that, and I hate reruns. Give me that." Cuddy said with a fake pout, yanking the remaining blanket out of his hands. The she turned around and started making her bed. Her hands were shaking and her heart was thudding so loud, she was sure he could hear it.

He limped away, leaving her to her chores. When he approached his room, he paused in the doorway, turned around and called her, "Wench."

She lifted her beautiful blue eyes to him and defiantly fired back, "Coward."

With a faint smile on his face, House entered his room and closed the door, leaning heavily against it. He steadied his breathing as he considered her last word. _Coward_. She had meant it with all her being and, the truth was, she was right. He was a coward; one selfish, arrogant, undeserving coward. Yet a grain of hope took roots in his newly discovered heart: _she was there, less than 20 feet away, and that was all that mattered._

A/N – song, Slipknot Snuff.

Hope you liked it!

**Nikki, Simone, & Andie**


	37. Oasis and Deserts

Disclaimer - We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 35~

His couch was comfortable. It was very similar to the chocolate brown one he bought when she was staying at his place; the one she preferred to sleep on, sneaking out of the big and empty king-size bed he had offered her, in the middle of the night, and snuggling close to him seeking his body, his warmth, and his protection.

She had been staring at the ceiling for the last three and a half hours, her brain working more frantically than ever, alert like a coiled spring, dozens of thoughts clouding her mind, keeping her from resting. Feeding on anxiety, her body reacted as it was expected – her muscles tensed, her heart was slightly tachycardic and her stomach churned in nausea. At first she thought she needed a couple of Valiums and a shot of bourbon to calm her nerves, knowing that after a quick search of his place she would have probably found both somewhere. Somehow that didn't seem like the right solution. The opiates would only serve to knock her down for the night, and the next morning would bring it all back; the indecision, the apprehension, and the cowardly fear, pulling hope farther and farther away from her.

That was it, the threshold she was dreading, the mysterious gate she had no key for, staring at her in premonition, yet she was resolved to stop torturing herself. Wiggling under her blanket, almost trying to escape her own thoughts, Cuddy had no idea where the memory came from but she suddenly remembered an excerpt from the Kurt Cobain's suicidal note - _it's better to burn out than to fade away._ That made her realize that she was done watching her life pass by her passively, like a wick on a candle exhaling its final breath; she was done living on the autopilot like she had been since the moment her baby boy had been ripped away from her. Listening to the song he had left on his iPod brought her back from the trance that had been swallowing her all this time, maliciously sucking out her strength and zest of life, leaving her body numb and defeated, and her soul as lethargic and lifeless as her empty womb.

Cuddy felt as if she was stuck in a small oasis amidst a vast desert, where she felt safe, protected, and where she knew she could keep on living, no questions asked. At any other time that would have been perfectly fine for her, but now she felt an overwhelmingly huge void in her soul. She was all alone in her hiding place, terrified to go out in the desert to try to get everything back; scared of the scorching sun, of the blinding sand storms, of the deadly thirst. _Was safety worth all the lack of meaning in her life?_ _Was she ready to give up the rest of the world in the name of the illogical fear of dying alone and helpless in the sand? Was she willing to renounce the last chance of having her old-self back just because she was intimidated by the idea of him breaking her heart again?_

_Not in this life. _

Instantly she felt her hand lifting the flannel blanket from her legs, her head leaving the pillow, her back losing the contact with the soft navy blue fabric, and her bare feet touching the wooden floor. She was up. She was doing it. Lisa Cuddy could be accused of everything except for being a coward. All the suffering she had endured in the last four months just made her tougher. She could deal with the pain of his rejection but the doubt and regret could easily become the death of her.

She dragged her feet towards his bedroom in silence, almost tiptoeing. Stopping in front of his door she looked under it, raising her palms to her mouth to steady her breathing and prevent any involuntary sounds from slipping her lips. _The lights are off, he is probably asleep_, she thought to herself and closed her eyes, drawing the ultimate particles of courage from her inner being. In two small steps she approached the door, leaning in and listening carefully. There was no imminent sound of snoring. Taking a deep breath she brought her left hand to the doorknob and gently twisted it; the lock clicked and the door soundlessly opened. Cuddy exhaled, entering his room.

His quarters were awfully dark and quiet, except for a very distant noise. Earphones. He was definitely awake; she would have recognized his heavy REM breathing anywhere, anytime and, moreover he had already noticed her presence there, so there was no backing out this time. With an undeniable determination, the ever so cool and icy hospital administrator approached his nightstand, switching the small lamp on, and sat by him on his bed, noticing his perplexed light blue gaze and his slightly parted, surprised lips.

The truth was he had not been able to sleep either as the beehive of his thoughts worked frantically around a delicately framed woman with much guts and spunk, just 20 feet away from him. When he had finally finished packing earlier that day, after an epic struggle to fit all his sneakers inside the designated suitcases, he remembered thinking that he would be spending this night in an uncomfortable, legroom void airplane seat, washing down one Vicodin after the other with hefty gulps of bourbon and running away from his ghosts at six hundred miles per hour. Yet, there he was, sprawled on his cozy and unmade bed, sober and wide awake.

The renowned diagnostician was listening to _Sway_ by The Perishers when he noticed the door opening slowly. That song reminded him so much of her, of them; but then again, everything reminded him of her and the fact that he had ruined her life, crushing her heart by making her biggest dream come true and causing its death afterwards. _Are we back now where it all began, have you finally forgiven me?,_ he heard the incredibly familiar verse and wondered what this all meant. Lisa Cuddy, the fierce negotiator and infuriatingly annoying boss, madly drove herself from Princeton to New York, risking her life, only to stop him from leaving the country, and was then sleeping peacefully on his couch, wearing his favorite Rolling Stones t-shirt. _Was it possible that the God he had never believed in heard all the prayers that had never left his mouth, and she, in fact, had finally forgiven him?_ With that thought he felt his heart involuntarily inflate with hope, only to start intensely racing again once he heard her stepping into his room.

Without saying a word Cuddy removed the earphones from his ears and grabbed his _iPod touch_ which was resting on his chest. Without meeting his inquisitive and impatient gaze she eyed the screen attentively, touching it a few times before getting what she needed. Placing one earphone in her ear, she offered him the other one, and pressed play. The painfully familiar tune of _Goodbye My Lover _filled their ears and invaded their senses, and they listened to the beautiful and moving lyrics all the way through, in silence and almost without breathing. He had no idea what was on her mind but he was not stopping her. Having her there by his side, gracing him with her presence and her beauty, was wonderful enough.

Cuddy had her head bent down, hiding her eyes from him, for the entire duration of the song. Her heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to abandon her chest and jump out of her mouth any moment. Her fingers were chillingly cold and trembling, at the point of crackling like shattered glass. When the music finally stopped, she closed her eyes and tried to ease her breathing, revisiting her imaginary scenery again. She could feel her bare feet leaving the green oasis and touching the hot sand of the desert. The sweet melody echoed in her ears, but she was not really revisiting it because she could never run away from the drumming sound it left in her heart ever since she had first heard it. However, she wanted him to revisit it; line by line. There was a question she needed to ask; the one her life depended on.

Controlling her shaky fingers, Cuddy pressed pause. Then slowly she pulled the earphone out of her ear and placed the iPod back on his chest, leaving her hand there. She could feel his heartbeat, accelerated and irregular, exactly like her own. Pursing her lips together and finally looking up to meet his eyes, she simply asked, "Is it true? Have I been the one for you?"

Her question caught him by surprise, as did the feeling of her hand resting on his chest, causing his heart to skip a beat. Before he realized it, he had his own hand over hers, caressing it delicately. His infinitely brilliant mind started working anxiously, trying its hardest to find a comeback both convincing and deflective enough to her unexpected question. However, absolutely nothing came up; it seemed as if his neurological synapses got on strike and his shrewdness suddenly abandoned him. He could feel her piercing stare on him, full of scrutiny, analyzing his every reaction, anxiously awaiting the answer.

After a couple of minutes of dead silence, which certainly felt like an eternity to both of them, he realized that he had no choice but tell her the truth. There was only one lucid thought in his excessively clouded mind, and yet it came out with such simplicity and eerie perfection. "Yeah, for the last twenty or so years…" House simply stated in a tranquil tone as if he had just chosen between an ice cream and pudding for dessert.

This time she was the one shocked by the directness of his answer. Sensing his feather-light touches trailing over the skin of her hand, she looked into his eyes and saw a mix of honesty and anticipation, painted on the light blue canvas. For a moment, she could not recognize that handsome man comfortably sprawled in front of her on the king-size bed, now gently massaging her tremulous hand under his, in an unbelievably soothing manner. That was definitely not the crass and vulgar diagnostician she knew, gracelessly known as _Mr. Deflection_.

_This_ Gregory House had nothing to hide. There was something about the modulation on his voice when he dropped that verbal bomb in her lap, the characteristic naturalness of the long known, yet unspoken truths. He had been aware of his feelings for a long time and the idea that his stubborn inertia had been responsible for her loneliness and infinite longing all these years, made her feel instantly betrayed. "Then why haven't you done anything about it, all these years?"

The glimpse of indignation in her eyes made him travel back in time, rolling the worn-out tape of his life in front of his own eyes. Now, he felt exactly the same way he had on the day he finally got the balls to tell his father he had no intention of following his military career path. "Because it makes no sense. It's illogical." Gregory House, the greatest chicken on earth, said, swallowing dry an inopportune lump growing in his throat. Then, with great difficulty, he took a deep breath, gathering courage.

"I have never been the one _for you,_" he continued, making a mental note to get back to his old and safe deflecting-self as soon as possible.

The astonishment disappeared quickly and Cuddy noticed him gradually withdrawing to his bulletproof cocoon, as self-loathing exacerbated quickly from his pores. Scooting closer to him, like a purring kitten, and gathering all the audacity left in her tiny frame, she finally stepped into her imaginary desert by asking him in a soft tone, pausing in the middle of her sentence. "Have you ever wanted … to be the one for me?"

Averting his gaze he reflexively let go of her hand, as the poisonous repent filled every cell in his body. _What_ _the hell is wrong with me? How could I expose myself like that?_ _When did I turn into Wilson?_ House felt like the newest member of that revolting and useless _sharing your feelings_ crap club. Pressing both hands against the mattress and arching his back, he sat up, deliberately biting his lower lip. Then he looked up, locking his eyes with hers. Blue on blue, truth on truth.

"Cuddy," he started with crude frankness, honestly believing the rest of his sentence would be enough to put the end to that overwhelming dawn of confessions. "If there is one thing I have learned from what happened is that what _I_ want hardly matters," he slowly delivered. House was proud to have finished the phrase without stuttering or mumbling but he was unable to hide the pain that layered his shaky voice.

A gallbladder attack would have hurt less then the ache she sensed in his voice. For the first time, in their long history, she realized that his well-hidden soul had a wound that matched her own; she had not bled alone all this time. She was aware of the fact that she was pushing him to the limits and that he, probably, could not bear that much exposure and vulnerability but she had invested herself way too much to just give up now.

"House, that's not…" she started in vain.

He could sense her shrewd mind working in a frenzy to beat his argument but he knew he could not let her succeed. "Come on, Cuddy, you know I'm right. It's not just a stupid song, it's the fundamental truth. You can't always get what you want!" he stated with conviction, hoping it would keep her from disagreeing with him.

The ominous tone of his voice frightened her a little; he was on the verge of snapping. She had to weight her words carefully because that was the crucial moment. She had left the oasis behind and was now in the middle of the desert, with his figure standing before her, towering her. _Is it a mirage?_ She had to find out.

"You are right House, it's not just a stupid song," she said, pretending to give in, only to unexpectedly raise her right hand and touch his temple, adding seductively, "But you are forgetting the rest of the lyrics…" Her thumb rubbed the wrinkles of his frown, causing his expression to relax instantaneously, and then, without prior warning, her fingers descended all the way to his nose and moving right, stroked his cheek, lovingly. "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might…"

"Get what you need…" He completed, almost whispering, uneasiness suddenly gone, and a feverish anticipation taking its place.

_Maybe this conversation is not such a bad idea, if it is allowing me to be close to her_, he thought to himself, as the electricity of her strokes crawled down his spine. Raising his right hand, which had been resting on the mattress, House delicately encircled hers that was still stroking his cheek and moved it to his lips, brushing soft and lazy kisses over it before asking, "Is that what you are doing now…" he started, leaving a small army of kisses on her palm, before finally exhaling and posing a life-defining question. "…trying to get what you need?"

"Yes." Cuddy admitted without hesitation, lost in the tenderness of his lips on her skin.

"And what do you think I can possibly give you?" he asked in a sweet and honest way, while his body, with a will of its own, moved deliberately towards her until his forehead was resting on hers; emotions were finally kicking reason's butt and taking over control.

He was not the product of her eager and longing mind; he was real; he was there with her, in the middle of nowhere, confused, scared, submitted. His inebriating musky scent invaded her sensitive nostrils; he smelled sinfully good.

"You can make me feel again," Cuddy murmured, as a sincere smile adorned her face once more and his hot breath left his mouth and brushed her lips, with their faces now only inches apart.

"Feel what?" he managed to ask before his emotion-filled eyes involuntarily closed and his lips met hers, caressing them gently and sensually. He wished he could inhale her entirely.

"Alive," she whispered into his lips, lifting her heavy eyelids just to drop them again seconds later in ecstasy. Then she felt his long lean fingers abandoning hers and reaching for her neck, pulling her mouth into his hungrily.

Their lips met again and the rest of the world automatically vanished in a poof of white smoke. If an alien ship had broken in through the window, landed on the floor by the side of the bed and sucked them into the light vortex, abducting them to another planet, they wouldn't have even noticed - as long as they were kept together, in a timeless embrace.

Their kiss started slow, soothing, and tender; the sensation was too overwhelming for both of them as their hearts were about to explode into a million pieces. Yet it felt so right, so familiar, like finally getting to sleep in your own bed after a week spent in hotel rooms. His lips captured hers, pressing softly her bottom lip with his, sensing its rose petal delicateness, and then tracing it deliberately with his tongue, in sensual teasing. House tangled his fingers in the bouncy curls of her hair, feeling her body shift towards him in response, placing both hands around his neck. He tilted his head to the right and she did the same, in perfect coordination, until they were kissing openly, mouth corners and tongues intertwined, passion flickering around them like firecrackers.

She moaned inside his mouth when she felt his warm tongue against hers, massaging it, savoring it, causing the heat to build between her legs. He tasted unbelievably delicious, a mix of honey and mustard, bittersweet, intoxicating. When she leaned closer in and started to suck on his tongue, it was his turn to cry out. Cuddy gently scratched her nails on his scalp, her fingers messing up his grayish fuses as she savored his low moan. She had risen from her seated position and, now her breast were inches from touching his chest.

Her _Black Magic_ by Valentino scent was driving him insane and his hands were already unconsciously moving towards her hips when the memory of the night she rejected him in his apartment invaded his brain cells, leading him to break off the kiss while he was still capable of controlling himself. He had truly given her his word back then. _He did not negotiate_.

His gesture was like a bucket of cold water momentarily extinguishing the fire and passion his kiss imprinted on her insatiable senses. Still panting from the previous air deprivation she widely opened her eyes and stared at him in disbelief, asking silent questions with her blue-green orbs. In all truth, she really did not have to ask. She knew exactly what that was about; she knew it from the very moment she left the couch and headed towards his room. It was about _that night_ when she had slashed her heart into poetic words written in her diary, confessing the inconfessable and crying herself to sleep in his bed afterwards, until the pillow case could not absorb any more of her tears.

The last time they had been this intimate, kissing and giving in, about to belong to each other completely, she had denied him her body and her soul, pushing him away from her. When she felt his hands resting on the swell of her belly her maternal instinct overruled her emotions in a desperate attempt to protect her child, and herself, from the menace he represented.

He had attempted to convince that her he was willing to try, and she had taken his words for granted, comparing his vain and empty speech with the equally vain purpose of getting inside of her pants. She had discredited him loud and clear as the potential father for her child when all he needed was a chance to prove he could have been one; that in fact he was one. If only she had known, better yet, if only he had let her know that it was him growing inside her, that there was nothing wrong about the place he had put his hand on, that it had actually belonged there the whole time, guarding that little piece of him he had given her.

It took Gregory House all the valor he had left in his miserable being to articulate that phrase and to suppress that little voice that came from inside his heart telling him to do the right thing - _what he desperately needed_ _and wanted _– to grab the open hand she was extending in front of him and abandon himself in her loving arms. Yet, his mind was his master, and his pride was his foreman. He never really had any choice for that matter.

"I am not doing this unless you…" he said slowly, cursing himself for ruining that amazing moment, for throwing away what could be his last chance of survival.

"Unless I ask you to. I know," Cuddy said interrupting him and knowingly completing his sentence. "You don't negotiate," she added, making it clear she remembered every single word constituting his bitter remark from that night.

Then she lowered her head, inhaling deeply. It was not easy playing the submissive role; asking House to touch her was against all of her principles. But then again so was showing up at his doorstep, talking him out of leaving the country and coming into his bedroom in the middle of the night, talking him into giving into his feelings. But Gregory House was not an ordinary man, he was _the_ one. _General rules had never applied to him_.

There was a price to be paid for loving him, and fortunately at that moment, she was able to afford it.

* * *

A/N

*Brought to you by **Andie**


	38. Aphrodite and Ares

Disclaimer - We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

**Chapter change of rating, T to M. Proceed at the risk of pleasure.**

~Chapter 36~

He watched her carefully as she looked down, covering her gaze with those thick eyelashes, obviously thinking. It was not hard to guess what was on her mind; she was weighing pros and cons, deciding what to do. And he was about to go insane, awaiting her to. He knew how hard it would be for her to do what he demanded, but he also had enough demonstrations of how unbelievably strong and courageous she could be; and for that he envied her immensely.

After almost a minute of deliberation, during which his incredulous eyes almost left its cage and his heart nearly went into a ventricular fibrillation, she lazily looked up at him, meeting his gaze, while slowly removing her t-shirt without saying a word or breaking eye contact. Her chest rose and fell in anticipation yet he had never seen her more secure, not even in her best _administrator-I-am-gonna-bite-your-head-off_ mode.

The lust and desire she saw in his baby blue eyes, the moment she took his _Rolling Stones_ shirt off of her, was all the extra incentive she needed to go ahead. He wanted her as badly as she wanted him and that was enough to instantly forget all her principles. Reaching for his left cold and sweaty hand, she clasped her fingers gently around it and slowly raised it to her naked chest, placing it there. "I want you to touch me, Greg." she sensually verbalized her soul's deepest desire in a voice that was tantalizingly husky and tight with suppressed emotion.

That was it, he was ready to die. The view of Lisa Cuddy stripping her shirt – _his, actually_ – exposing her Greek style sculptured breasts, and then grabbing his tremulous hand and putting it over her luring skin, had just made his miserable and meaningless life entirely worth living. No, scratch that, there was no way was he dying now, not before making her feel like what she had always been - _the sexiest woman on the planet_.

Focusing on the unexpected but pleasant task ahead, he leaned in close to her, sliding his hands around her waist and taking a firm, yet gentle grasp causing her body to shiver under his touch. Then he carefully swiveled her onto her left, tumbling her delicate frame on the mattress. With a boyish smug smirk on his face he took long, lazy look of her both surprised and aroused expression before bending over and hungrily claiming her lips.

House's tongue plunged in her mouth again, roaming around possessively, his stubble grazing her face, his big and skillful hands running over her entire body, caressing and exploring every inch of the newly conquered skin. That was her man, bringing her back to life, and once more infusing color to her black and white existence. She frantically stroked the extension of his back with her palms, digging her nails into the soft skin under his shirt, feeling each toned muscle while he assaulted her neck and collarbone, kissing, nipping, licking, and sucking.

Her entire body and mind was lost in the wonderful sensation of his unrestricted passion when she felt him position himself between her legs and start rubbing himself against her. "Oh…" she gasped, rolling her eyes in her head, once she sensed his bulge pressing against her already sensitive area. Then he returned all his attention to her mouth, kissing it slower this time and moving his probing tongue the same way he moved his hips, back and forth, teasing her, causing her to moan in pleasure while her juices started dripping between her legs.

He had never believed in Heaven's existence but if someone was to ask him, in that moment, to describe the whole concept of divine bliss - that would have definitely been it, Lisa Cuddy writhing in his arms. That was the ultimate heaven for his senses; her beauty stunning his eyes, her taste fuddling his conscience, her moans driving him insane, her smell intoxicating his being and her soft skin setting his on fire. Her skin tasted like oranges and wild honey, and she smelled delicious, a faint spicy, flowery scent that made his head spin in ecstasy. Parting the kiss so both of them could catch their breaths, House trailed a path of wet kisses down to her breasts while simultaneously moving his right hand towards her pelvis. He was about to lick her right rock bud when the evidence his hand found soaking the thin lounge pants he had lent her gave him a better idea.

She had never felt so wet in her entire life. Her love juices had quickly made her panties treasonously moist and were now dampening the lounge pants that covered them. Cuddy closed her eyes and prepared herself for the overwhelming sensation of his tongue on her nipple when she felt his weight shifting. _No_, her body protested; she could not take any teasing, not now. Opening her eyes, she spotted him on his knees, grabbing the fabric of her pants with both of his hands and tugging it at impatiently. When he finally managed to remove them a mischievous grin spread across his face, adorned with an irresistible glimpse in his eyes - by far the hottest thing she had ever seen. Taking her left foot in his hand he started placing gentle wet kisses along its arch, from heel to toe, until he reached the big one and decided to lavish it with attention, kissing it feverishly. She moved her hands to her breasts, cupping them and enjoying the sweetness he had loosed to pour through her veins. She cried out softly, feeling a corresponding tug of desire in that hidden place between her thighs as he worked his way up, kissing the length of skin inside her right leg, his beard teasingly scratching her senses. His was tongue hot and wet, insistent and fierce, as he slowly, slowly made his way up the column of her femininity.

Once he reached her sex the intoxicating scent of her arousal made his mouth water and he struggled to control himself. It was not the time to taste her yet as she would not be able to fight her orgasm. He realized he needed to cool her down a bit before proceeding with his plan. Rolling her over onto her stomach, House gave her back the same attention he had given her leg until he reached her bottom. He stood there, mesmerized, staring at her creamy cheeks in awe. They were beyond belief. Perfectly shaped and entirely his. Daydreaming, House realized that not even a Walt Disney Pictures computer design freak would have done a better job with all the technology known to man. Maybe there was, indeed, a God out there somewhere. Caressing and admiring her curves, he felt an urge to nip her like a savoury condiment, which he did, with certain apprehension. She let a sultry moan in response, enjoying it - _that was his girl_.

Seconds later he was finally removing her panties. Cuddy was not sure she had liked the whole rolling over idea until she felt his body heaving behind her back, positioning his erection against her bottom and turning her over to the side, possessively holding her there. His strong arms involved her frame and his velvet lips started planting small kisses on the soft skin behind her ear. It had been a long time since she had last felt this safe, and loved. House was never the man of words, not when they were supposed to mean something serious, and she was sure he preferred to be kept Vicodin free for a week than to pronounce those scary three little ones. His feelings were revealed by his actions, his urgency and his passion; his soul was exposed by the way he pressed her body against his, holding her possessively, almost asking her to stay there forever. And she was not going anywhere; there was no other place in this universe or in the parallel ones yet to be discovered she would rather be. His embrace was her refuge; his skin, her blanket; his kisses, her nourishment.

Sensually running his tongue along the cartilage of her ear and biting it occasionally, he felt her relax in his arms. Enfolding her earlobe into his warm mouth he noticed her girlishly smiling in approval with the corner of his eye. Suddenly hope was back in his heart; her radiant grin had brought it back, fighting the ghosts within. He knew instantly that life would not be possible away from her anymore. Maybe, it had never been. The feeling was absolutely overwhelming, and although he had the impression that freaking out was the most appropriate reaction to it, there was nothing but an alien peace in his progressively healing soul.

"Lisa," he hummed in her ear, making her turn around lazily to meet his gaze. He drowned himself in the green-blue waves of her eyes while his fingers, which were now resting on her belly, skidded down with deliberation, reaching her sex. "You are a goddess." he whispered, slowly trailing his long pianist fingers along her pouting nether-lips and coating them in her warm juices before finding, with unerring aim, her tiny pleasure pearl and putting pressure on it, causing her to cry out loud in ecstasy and arching her back.

His initial touch felt like an electroshock, sending the waves of pleasure from her swollen and oversensitive bud to all the corners of her body. Cuddy's eyes instantaneously closed as her head fell back and a passionate wild groan left her lips. His words echoed in the back of her mind: _goddess_. She had never heard anything that flattering before. Her chest rose with feminine pride as he fulfilled that primitive need of being attractive to her male. He continued working on her throbbing pearl, in delightfully teasing circular motion, simultaneously watching her every reaction, hearing her every howl, feeling her body vibrating under his.

"Open your eyes, baby," he ordered passionately, and she obeyed, gasping for air, just to notice him lowering his head towards her, his tongue brushing against her trembling lips. At the same time his middle finger rubbed its way down to her boiling core, penetrating it deeply, and causing a sharp squeal to leave her lips in response. "Do you like that?", he asked teasingly, brushing tantalizing kisses in the corner of her mouth while circling the walls of her femininity and inspecting its tightness before sliding his digit in and out, slowly. In no conditions of verbalizing an answer, she reflexively held his hand in place, pushing it deeper. "I'll take that as a yes," he giggled smugly, just to introduce another digit into her wetness. Deliberately slowly he started gliding them in and out, leaving her speechless, breathless and moaning in passionate delirium. She was on the verge of begging.

Cuddy's left hand grasped the sheets that covered the mattress while her right one tightened its grip around his hand, her toes curling up, her pelvis arching. He sensed she was close again but he felt an insatiable urge to taste her. With that thought he slowly removed his fingers from her pulsating core, causing a surge of protests to leave her mouth. Cuddy opened her eyes in frustration, her vision clouded, and he waited until she locked her eyes with his before he took the two wet glistening digits to his lips and dabbed at them hungrily.

"I need to taste you…" he said looking for permission in her eyes. With each passing second her orbs were widening with lust, desire boiling on the green-blue canvas as she pulled him in an open kiss, her tongue invading his mouth with unhidden domination. She was clearly demonstrating how much the image of him savoring her fluids had turned her on. _God, this woman can kiss_, he thought to himself as an uncontrollable grunt left his throat when she scratched her nails against his nape and pulled him in fervently. Several minutes of almost desperate kissing later they were about to faint due to the prolonged air deprivation. It was Cuddy who parted first, ungluing her lips from his, lazily and seductively slow as her eyes grew darker with imminent lust. Then, writhing out of his embrace, she invitingly sprawled herself on the bed.

_Aphrodite_. That was her real identity. Her slightly Hellenic features and her curly ebony hair were a proof of that. Lisa Cuddy was just a disguise she had adopted to coexist among the mortals. The goddess of love, beauty and sex, in her whole magnificence, was sprawled comfortably in his bed. Maybe he was _Ares_, the God of war, her lover, and the Olympian responsible for the spread of chaos and destruction from whom nobody could ever extract any goodness, except her. Or maybe he was nothing beyond a simple faithful eager to render her cult by worshiping the temple of her body.

Seconds later, or what felt like hours of adoration to her, he proceeded with his ever so delicious duty. Flinging her legs over his shoulders and locking her hips tightly against the mattress, he started his work between her thighs, licking her nether-lips with long strokes of his lips and sucking her pearl, while alternating between sharp flicks and thrusting into her core with his tongue. "Oooh my God…" she squealed wildly as her entire body was trembling with lust, succumbing to the overwhelming sensation of his mouth.

Cuddy closed her eyes again. The erotic image of him as his head was rhythmically moving between her thighs, his eyes lit with hunger, his face glistening from her arousal - that was just too much for her to bear. She could feel the spidery sensations of pleasure spreading through her body, to the last nerve ending she had. Her muscles clenched as the sweet feelings of ecstasy crawled through her, descending into her pelvis and waiting, begging for release. His lips and tongue worked passionately to push her over the edge but she found herself demanding more, in total desperation. "Greg, please…"

It was time for heavy artillery. _This is going to be the best orgasm of your life, Lisa Cuddy or my name is not Gregory House_, he told himself as he withdrew his lips from her sex. Quickly, he replaced them with his two fingers and continued plunging inside her, without breaking the heated momentum between them. Then he moved up her luscious body, only to stop at her breasts. Her rosy nipples were rock hard and perky, sinfully inviting him to savor them. He immediately realized he had not given them the proper attention yet. Licking the left one first, and moistening it with his hot saliva, he took into his mouth. Alternating between the two, he sucked and nipped them feverishly, while his thumb moved to stroke her pleasure pearl, and his fingers passionately worked their pace, back and forth, inside her. He had pulled her three triggers, all at once. Lisa Cuddy could not help but scream.

She really thought she was going to faint as a cry of total abandonment, of final, ultimate ecstasy left her lips. Her vision was suddenly a total blank except for the fireworks in her brain. The bed under her seemed to be spinning faster then the Earth itself and her heart struggled to work harder than a manual-labor worker with two months of unpaid bills. When her orgasm finally hit her like an unexpected storm, all her muscles contracted simultaneously; one hand limply sunk on the mattress while the other held his head buried in her chest.

Lisa Cuddy had never been a noisy lover but the whole _waking-up-the-neighbors_ screaming in elation, which still echoed through his room, had been absolutely inevitable. Her body was sweetly numb, her muscles aching from the effort yet relaxed like never before. Her legs turned into jelly, and she felt an unavoidable need to laugh. She was high. She could not control the urge to giggle as a silly memory came to her mind; the one and only time she had ever smoked pot, back in their wild college days, right after downing a half of bottle of _Jose Cuervo_. The next day she had woken up, completely naked and shamelessly intertwined with a certain pretentious medical student.

He watched her closely as she descended from her high, more glorious and beautiful due to the orgasm afterglow. His erection pushed insistently against the fabric of his boxers, to the point of pain. Suddenly he realized there was actually an advantage in experiencing a constant physical suffering all this years - it had taught him how to deal better with tolerable discomfort. No force, terrestrial or alien, would ever force him to disturb her in that moment of blissful serenity.

After a couple of minutes of searing sweetness Cuddy opened her emerald sparkling eyes. She looked at House and flashed that stunning smile of hers, shifting slightly from the mattress while supporting her weight with her elbows. "Well, I guess now it's time to take care of that," she said seductively slow, raising her left hand and pointing to the evident impatience in his boxers.

"I am OK. Tonight is all about you and your needs," he replied confidently, desperate to accept her offer and get the release his body craved, yet determined to keep his word; he had really meant it this time.

His self-sacrificing abnegation caught her by surprise. She would have never expected this kind of consideration from any man in the entire world, especially not from him. The nobility of his gesture ended up injecting another shot of desire into her veins.

Able to feel her entire body again Cuddy raised her hand and seductively placed her index finger between his lips, tugging the lower one slightly as she went down, trailing her digits against his chin, neck, chest, and now taut stomach. "My needs, you say? Well, let's just say that touching you has always been one of them," she said in her old, familiar overconfident tone, finally reaching his manhood and stroking it gently through the thin fabric. "Lay down," she ordered with arousing coquetry, locking her eyes with his thunderstruck and horny gaze.

She started by slowly removing the offending piece of clothing, finally giving him the freedom he yearned for. House immediately noticed the hungry look that adorned her face, before she clasped her small fingers around it and stroked it gently, catapulting him to another galaxy.

"Hmmm…" he mumbled, losing himself in the sensation and letting his eyelids drop for a moment only to open them again and flinch at the overwhelming feeling her lips and tongue ware lashing over the sensitive skin of his organ. "Oh, damn it, Lees," he gasped, biting his lower lip and swallowing dry as she ran her warm and tormenting tongue along the entire extension of his shaft, down to its root and back. She gave him incredible pleasure over and over again.

Once she tasted him it became impossible to resist the temptation of having him entirely inside her mouth. The tormented cry of pleasure that left his lips and the uncontrolled shudder of his body under her fingers immediately told her he would not be able to hold it for a long time. He tasted wonderfully and she wanted nothing more than proceed with the pleasant task until his love juices filled her mouth but unfortunately, for him, she did not share the same generosity and incredible self-control tonight; her pleasure pearl was back on throbbing between her legs. She selfishly wanted to feel him inside of her.

Taking him in her hands carefully Cuddy positioned herself over his hips and brushed his member against her bud teasingly, before sinking onto him. A profanity instantaneously left his partially parted lips and she clenched her fists around the soft fabric of his sheets. She sensed him filling her, making his way back inside her after so many years of painful absence. The immediate discomfort that assaulted her, causing her to grind her teeth and struggle to hold back a cringe, transported her back to real world. She should have known better; nothing between House and her was ever easy, not even the lovemaking. He was too big for her and she was too narrow for him yet she closed her eyes trying to relax her muscles before moving cautiously.

He watched her having difficult time adjusting herself to his size. Her eyes were closed and her fragile features displayed a mix of desire and pain. A warning siren shot through his body as reality, in all its weight, sank in; _that was all a huge mistake_. The hurt that contorted her face was worse than the irreparable damage they have caused to each other. He was hurting her the way her furious slap still scorched his face, the way her accusations still haunted him like a poltergeist, ruining the last vestiges of his self-confidence that prevented him from yielding to his miserable existence. The rational side of his brain screamed at him like never before yet all he felt was the urge to leave this world at that exact moment with her divine naked body on top of him. An image as real as the picture he stole from her office before leaving, a view wonderful enough to be carried through eternity.

Little by little the discomfort subsided and she began move slowly, riding him lazily, searching for the perfect angle so his manhood would massage that pleasure point within her with each new thrust. Her hips rocked back and forth as he filled her, breaking her already fragile defenses. Her pelvis moved rhythmically above him, radiating pleasure all over her body while her heart drowned itself in a pool of emotions as her mind played a recap of the last months, bringing betraying tears to her eyes.

Songs, kisses and confessions unfortunately did not have the power to erase past. While one part of her wanted to cry copiously, the other one was still angry with him. Absolutely in command Cuddy stimulated herself with her left hand, cupping her creamy breasts with the right one. _She was lost in pleasure while her heart squeezed in angst. How could that man bring her so much pleasure and so much bliss, yet make her heart bleed?_

That song he played when she arrived could have been right, after all. Maybe she could not hate House enough to love him, as contradictory as it might sound. Cuddy was the living testimony of the veracity people claimed about love and hate; love and hate were two sides of the same coin. She hated him so much then. She hated him for loving her silently all those years and not doing anything about it; she hated him for confessing his buried feelings through a song and abandoning her so cruelly when she needed him the most; she hated him for stealing her soul and running away with it like a coward, leaving her lifeless. But above all she hated him for thinking he had not deserved her. _How dared he?_ _How could he despise himself so much?_ His self-loathing was essentially insulting her because all she could do was to love him and long for his happiness.

_No_, she was not letting him go. Not now. Not ever. She needed her soul back. She was not buying that crap about dark uncaring hearts and hopeless souls.

Lifting her hips and sinking back onto him in a torturously slow motion Cuddy observed his facial features in awe. He was heroically resisting, his eyes tightly shut, his throat full of low moans and unrestrained desire. House's hands steel-grasped her thighs determined not to let go_. _Struggling to keep control, it did not take him long to figure out what she had intended with that tantric ride. She wanted him to beg for release. _But why?,_ he asked himself while struggling for air._ Was his confession not enough? Would she still be seeking vengeance? _Once her right hand abandoned her breast and reached back, stroking the root of his manhood and tugging on him ever so gently, he cried out. No, she could not be that vain, not caressing him like this. Lifting his eyelids again, he desperately grunted, "Jesus, Lisa!" Then he arched his back in an urgent try of increasing the pace between them.

"If you want something…" she started in low voice, now having a hard time controlling her own orgasm "…all you have to do is ask," she completed, grinning mischievously. _She was the one for him, had always been, and she was just proving him wrong, however she could, whatever it took. _

"God, I'll ask you. Anything you want, just go faster, please… just let me, oooh…" House begged without hesitation. There was no time for stupid pride now; he was in no condition of denying her anything whatsoever. Then and there, she owned him. _He knew, from the moment his eyes caught that astounding figure of hers, standing outside his door, elegant, majestic and willful as a medieval queen, that he no longer belonged to himself. _

He was back. The man she had fallen for many moons ago emerged from behind those carefully built walls especially designed to imprison his soul inside of that beautiful and masculine body. He had been there all along and nothing was keeping her from loving him, and feeling him reciprocate her. Pleased with herself like never before, Cuddy bent over, until her chest was resting on his, and whispered in his ear, nipping at his cartilage simultaneously. "Move to the side and roll us over, Greg…" she pleaded while kissing him passionately. Then she explained her reasoning, "… so you can do it the way you like it, and I can feel you thrust inside me…"

Grabbing her hips to prevent losing contact, he managed to roll them both over in one quick and rough movement as she had just requested. He was now on top of her, like she knew he preferred, and like she secretly did too. House reached her for right palm and kissed it before entwining it with his left. Then he placed both her hands above her head, while pushing her leg forward and holding her there with his left, looking for better access. Shifting his weight on his left side, mindful of his bum leg, he continued plunging inside her, rhythmically, deeply and almost roughly; their hips moved back and forth like in butterfly swimming. "Look at me, Lisa. Look at me!" he demanded impatiently, asking her to read the message written in his baby blue eyes. With her free hand she touched his face and lightly stroked his stubbly cheek, locking her eyes with his. She understood it.

They climaxed together with their hands entwined and eyes locked. When she felt the first quivers inside her sweltering core she wrapped her legs around his lower back, pulling him deeper and contracting her muscles even more in order to prolong their pleasure and milk him dry. He thrust deeply one last time and ejaculated intensely, filling her with his juices and collapsing onto her sweaty chest. His orgasm was so intense that it made him fear for his middle-aged heart; for a brief second he was sure it would give up on him. Still panting, House rested his head on Cuddy's sternum, while their heartbeats skyrocketed. Minutes later he finally whispered in exhaustion, lightly kissing her breastbone. "I don't think I can move." A smile of peaceful bliss adorned his face. Finally.

"I don't want you to…" she simply replied, caressing his damp hair and placing a light kiss on top of his head. _They were now as they were always supposed to be - two bodies united in a perfect harmony, breathing in unison; two souls recognizing mutual salvation._

A/N

*Brought to you by Andie. Show her your appreciation.


	39. The unbearable lightness of being

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 37~

House closed his eyes and waited for this sweet dream to end; he anticipated the moment where he would wake up alone in his insultingly big and empty bed, embarrassed between his wet sheets like he had been on many occasions before that. _Was it possible he was hallucinating?_ He always feared it would end up happening eventually, on the account of his Vicodin abuse, but it seemed his usually overstretched mind must have crossed all the boundaries this time. This felt way too real to be a product of his imagination; her smooth and sweaty skin against his, the taste of her toasted coconut breath lingering on his lips, the comfort of her chest, where he had his head buried, between the most amazing pair of breasts known to man; her heartbeat against his own, her chest rising and falling, her soothing touch all over his back; her fingers and lips in his hair. Damn it, he could still vividly feel her tightness around his member. _Life was so unfair_. Would he really have to live to find out this was all a product of his unhinged mind? There was no way she would have given herself to him completely like that; they couldn't have managed to find a way around all that crap that separated them; this was too good to be true. The rational and self-loathing animal in him distrusted the good. Hope was not a word that belonged in his personal dictionary.

Cuddy did not mean to break the spell of that magic moment but his silence was slowly becoming ominously overwhelming. Was it possible he was already regretting everything, even when their bodies were still connected?_ Please God, don't allow it to be the case, it would mean the end of everything, I would not be able to take his rejection, not now_, she cried to herself, fearing House's reaction. A livid consternation grew impatiently in her soul and she refused to part from him, to let him go, clasping her hands tightly with his. She could feel hot tears forming in her eyes and a familiar shortness of breath assaulting her chest. Pulmonary embolism and anguish made a really dangerous team.

He was still lost in his reverie, speculating about the realness of that surreal moment when he heard a gasp and felt her lungs fill itself with air all of a sudden. She was struggling to breathe and, he realized, that was very atypical of hallucinations. World could come to an end in a couple of hours but there was no doubt that the whole thing was actually happening. He was lost in her arms just like she was in his, and if he did not remove himself quickly from her, the woman he loved would be suffocating in no time. Resting on his elbows and carefully raising his body from hers, he rolled over and rested beside her, only to hear her muffled cries.

"What's wrong?" House simply asked, without trying to guess the reason why she was shedding tears after their life-altering lovemaking.

"You were so quiet…" she started, obviously upset. "I just thought you were…" Cuddy tried to explain, struggling to control her sobbing.

He scrutinized her desolate expression and felt something in his chest melt; she proved he had a heart. She looked so fragile and vulnerable and he just wanted to hold her against his chest and never let her go. Instead of doing that, fearing that the evil voice inside his head was right and repent was the sole cause of her sudden breakdown, he simply wiped her tears with the back of his index finger and softly inquired, "You thought I was what?"

She analyzed his eyes against the soft light of the lampshade and quickly decided that she could not detect any regret. The light blue gaze that reflexively inspected her face seemed to reflect a mix of apprehension and tenderness. "Regretful," she answered, taking his hand that touched her face in hers, intertwining their fingers.

That was it; she had taken his inertia for disdain. If they were ever going to plan a relationship, the first thing they needed to improve was their communication skills. House mulled over telling her what had actually been on his mind but he felt silly about it. There were more effective and pleasurable ways of reassuring her. "You got fooled by my silence. Let's see if this can give you the right message," He said claiming her lips with his, kissing her tenderly and passionately, intending to dry all her tears and silence all her doubts once and forever, if possible.

They kissed unhurriedly, like a couple of teenagers coming out of the movie theatre without the slightest idea of what the 2-hour film was all about. She could feel him savoring her, exploring every inch of her mouth with his warm tongue, and she gave in to the relaxing and soothing sensation. She could easily overdose on his delightful taste.

"So, can you taste any regret in it?" House asked after they parted, with a boyish grin tugging the corners of his lips, as he ran his thumb along her cheekbone. She looked at him sheepishly and smiled, shaking her head in negation. He knew exactly how to be the purest incarnation of charm when he wanted to.

"Good. So let's try this cuddling thingy again, shall we?" he proposed in the same endearing tone, sprawling himself across the bed and moving her close to him, until she was securely nested in his embrace. She cradled her head against his chest and flashed an almost adolescent smile as she felt his arms hug her possessively. It was a perfect fit, safe and warm at the same time. It resembled a familiar, yet somehow distant sensation. Cuddy tried to define it while losing herself in the wonderful thrill of his naked body against hers. _Peace_, yes, that's what it used to be called.

And the silence swathed them again. No words seemed good enough to spoil such a precious moment between them. House stroked her hair lovingly, brushing an army of small kisses on top her head, while Cuddy ran small circles on his chest with the tip of her index finger. Then, in the midst of all the tearing emotions and pure bliss, a voice cracked through. The ever so confident and self-sufficient Gregory House was the one in need of some answers. Unable to keep the tormenting question inside his mouth, he just decided to spit it out. "Lise?"

"Hmmm?" she hummed lazily, planting a small kiss on his chest.

"Is it really dead? What I…" he started, realizing that he had just earned the Oscar for the most stupid and inconvenient question. Reminding her of that silent declaration of love to him maybe wasn't the smartest idea but he just needed to know; putting the puzzle of his emotional life together was the greatest challenge of all. "What I read in your diary?"

That was it, he asked. It was done and he couldn't take his words back. He had absolutely no idea how she would react to his inquiry and his heart skipped a beat when her hand demonstratively left his chest. House noticed her slowly lifting her head from his chest to look at his eyes. Was she mad? Hurt? Disappointed? Was she about to yell at him? Slap him? Or worse, leave him, taking his recently healed heart with her?

"It has been, for a while, yeah…" she simply answered, bringing her hand to caress his face. A reflexive furrow formed between her green blue flashlights, "But I guess I have been dead too," she completed, putting her head back to its former place, her arm now covering his thorax.

"Lise?" he called her again, still exhaling relief from every pore for her indulgent reaction to his thorny little question.

"I swear to God I will never complain about your silence again," she said mockingly, trying to break the solemnity of the atmosphere and hide her nervousness that thunderstruck her when he decided to continue discussing that very uneasy topic.

"That day, in my office, what I said about you being a crappy mother to my…our son, I…" he stuttered as the sour taste of repent burnt in his throat and squeezed his chest harshly, making it impossible to carry on the speech without inhaling deeply. "I didn't mean it." House managed to finish, proud of himself for finally apologizing to her.

She felt an immediate urge to cry. The memory of that appalling afternoon crept back to her mind, assaulting her brain cells, and opening a burning sore in her heart that ferociously threatened never to heal. However, this time she held back her tears. She understood that his unexpected apology needed to be reciprocated. "I didn't mean any of my words either. All those absurd insults I threw at you, especially the one about your dad, were out of line." She looked at him with heavy eyes, mute, imploring, asking for an approval to continue. His eyes were very dark, very deep, and very quiet. With her nostrils quivering, she finally added, "I was mad that you stopped talking to me. That you refused to talk to me."

"I didn't stop talking to you; I just complied with your wishes." He replied in his medical-differential tone aware of the looming conversation. He had nowhere to hide. Not this time.

"When have you ever cared about other people's wishes?" Cuddy asked with a faint chuckle, slightly amused by his deposition.

"You screamed on top of your lungs that you never wanted to see me again and I realized then and there you would never forgive me for what I did. Well, it was not so much what I did but the fact I didn't tell you about it." House's pupils dilated as the burden of confession became lighter and lighter. He felt high, "Lisa, I wanted to tell you, many times, but finding the right words has never been my strong suit."

"_Why_ did you do it?" she asked, dying to know his ulterior motives even if they turned out to be emotionally unfavorable for her. She simply needed to know in order to close that chapter of her life and move on. "Why did you switch the samples?"

"I wanted…" he started uneasily, letting the silence sink in around them.

"What? Please tell me the truth this time," Cuddy begged knowing that House and truths rarely went hand in hand, if ever. What she just did must have been the hardest thing she had ever asked him to do because the truth was rarely pure and never simple; similarly, the man in front of her was as rare and definitely not simple.

"It was basically very selfish of me," He took a deep breath and continued down the path of soul-salvation. She gave him a second chance and he grabbed it with both of his hands. "I reasoned if I could never be the one for you and make you happy, I wanted something of mine to do that for me. Silently, without all that fuss."

"Fuss?" Cuddy arched her eyebrow, silently asking him to elaborate his statement.

"Yeah, of you asking me and me saying _no_," he stated in his trademark snarky tone, refusing to look at her eyes.

"How did you…?" Cuddy started, mesmerized by the power of his deduction. This man never failed to surprise her and he just did it again, confessing to her that he had known, all along, that she wanted him to father her child.

"…know?" House finished her question knowing all too well that he would have to explain himself and his logic. She verbally cornered him yet he didn't mind this time. He owed her that much.

"Damn, you always trusted me, Lisa. I am sure I don't know why, but you did. It was not hard to deduce from the look on your face and your shaky voice, that afternoon, what you really wanted."

"And you would have said _no_?" Cuddy poked, testing the fallacy of his statement.

"I would have failed you then just like I failed you four months ago," he replied, failing to dignify her with a real answer, knowing deep down that he wouldn't have said _no_. Deflection was still his strongest ammunition and his protective shield.

"You don't know that," Cuddy added, shocked by the pain in his words.

"I do. Oh, I do," House assured her brokenly, absolutely convinced of his words.

"It is not your fault, Greg. It never was. Please don't be so hard on yourself," she extended her hand and enveloped his, squeezing it lightly and infusing some of her warmth into his chilled skin. He was scared and she sensed it with her entire being.

"I did an unimaginable injustice to your body and to your mind and all I wanted, in the past four months, was your forgiveness. I know I don't deserve it and never will but…" House started but she quickly interrupted him. She couldn't bear his verbal begging while his soul was stripped naked and vulnerable, right in front of her eyes. He deserved reassurance before crackling like thin ice, and she quickly gave it to him, suddenly aware of his feelings for her and their unborn child.

"I _did_ forgive you Greg, on Christmas Eve," Cuddy confessed. Gregory House stared at her in awe, not believing his ears. He was expecting her to start viciously laughing any minute, admitting she was joking and that there was no way she would ever forgive him. But, no. She did, and seconds later she explained herself. "When I realized you had given me the greatest miracle possible there was no way I could have stayed mad at you anymore. I was ready to go over to your place after a quick stop at my office but you walked out on everything…"

"You left me no choice. Your sorrow killed me, both professionally and personally," he said angry at himself for bailing at the exact moment she decided to forgive him. The harsh tone in his voice was directed at himself but Cuddy misinterpreted it, allowing guilt to penetrate her pores; she sighed deeply and looked at him.

"Forgive me," Cuddy said pleadingly. His forgiveness meant a new chapter of hope for her yet a different thought plagued his soul. She had already forgiven him; his sins, his faults; his misdeeds. Just like Mark Twain said - _forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it_ – Lisa Cuddy scented his world by forgiving. How on earth could he hold anything against her?

"Is that an order Dr. Cuddy?" House asked teasingly, trying to add a lighter tone to their already somber conversation.

She just nodded her head affirmatively, with a childish spark of anticipation in her tear-filled eyes. She tried to smile at him, to say something, but her mouth was trembling, and she was blinded by pleasure-tears. To be with him again . . . it overwhelmed her in every way.

"Oh you silly woman, I have nothing to forgive you. Come here," he said, watching as a single tear left her eye and rolled down her porcelain face.

One of his hands came upward. The tip of his thumb smoothed over the gloss of dampness beneath her eye. His hand cradled the side of her face so gently that her lashes fluttered down, and she didn't resist as she felt him bring her closer. His parted lips touched the salty wake of the tear and followed it along her cheek. And then all the uneasiness evaporated. With a swift, almost greedy move, he reached for her back, her hips, clutching her hard against him.

His mouth found hers with hot, urgent pressure. House tasted her slowly, gently, protectively; Cuddy reached up to his cheeks and shaped her fingers over his stubble. A sound came from low in his throat, a masculine growl of pleasure, need and belonging. The wounds they have cruelly inflicted onto each other months ago were finally ready to cicatrize and heal.

Hugging her possessively, he finally decided to quit talking and for the third time that evening the silence sealed the air around them. Their breaths and heartbeats were the only audible sounds until feathery snuffles joined in minutes later. They resisted falling asleep as long as they could, afraid that once Morpheus took them in his strong arms, all the enchantment would be gone, drowned in the misery and loneliness of the morning after, and they would have nothing but a memory of their fictional evening of salvation.

* * *

A/N

*Sorry for the slow updates but Nikki aka Miss Cuddles aka me (_je suis un pécheur_) decided to take her sweet tush to Paris for some exquisite French wine, cheese, and men. She took our mojo with her.

**We love you. Nikki, Andie **&** Simone


	40. Night is darkest before dawn

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

**Chapter change of rating, T to ****mild M. Proceed at the risk of pleasure.**

* * *

~Chapter 38~ (Night is darkest before dawn)

A few hours later House awakened, just before dawn, a cold breeze chilling his body, making him shiver. The warm body that lulled him to sleep was no longer there, and it took him a few seconds to process that information and open up his eyes, startled. _Where was she?_ His leg was throbbing violently with pain but he didn't reach for his Vicodin bottle on the nightstand. Instead he numbly stared at the darkness in front of him, frantically clawing the crumpled sheets with his shaky fingers. _No. No. No. This can't be true_, he told himself instantly panicking.

In cold sweat and with his heart drumming impatiently in his chest, he switched the lamp on but the bulb had only 15 Watts and produced a dim glow which barely lit the room. Turning quickly towards the bed he spotted her sprawled on the other end, majestic and blissfully asleep, making private use of his blanket. She simply occupied two thirds of his king size mattress, ebony curls spilled over the pillow like black pearls, legs and left breast uncovered, the rest of her body sensually hidden under the soft flannel, arms nested comfortably above her head.

House had never seen her so sexy, not even when she was dressed in all the ridiculously expensive brand pencil skirts and suits, parading flirtatiously around the PPTH every single day, indulging his imagination. This time, however, her sizzling beauty was absolutely involuntary. If being gorgeous was ever to be considered a felony, Lisa Cuddy would surely deserve a capital penalty.

Looking at her left nipple, rock hard due to the chill breeze that circulated the room, House instantly felt his mouth water. That indeed was not fair to the other living male species but he was more than fine with it. She was his and only his; she was there, in his bed, where she belonged, where she had always belonged, all this time. _Time_…so much of it lost on stupidity. He needed to make up for twenty years so he resolved to better start immediately.

Sneaking mischievously under the flannel blanket House crawled carefully on top over her, causing electrifying friction between their taut bodies. She slightly wiggled under him but failed to wake up; only a naughty smile adorned the corners of her lips. Without too much hesitation House lowered his head to her chest, bringing his mouth to her bare breast. Giving it a first sensual lick he watched her areola skin react in response to the unexpected gesture, before gently sucking it inside his mouth and lavishing it with his hot tongue. After a few well spent seconds on his ever so delightful and arousing duty, he felt her hands in his hair, fondling it playfully. She awoke with a low, lazy moan.

Cuddy opened her eyes thinking that she could definitely get used to that, getting stirred to her senses in the middle of the night by her man, demanding her love, impatient with the hunger only her body could sate. She craved him so badly that her subconscious had also given him the main role in the fiction of her dreams, providing her a pleasurable daily sex break on the couch of her office.

Unaware of the difference between dreams and reality her body had already started to respond to his skillful touches as her betraying juices trickled between her legs even before he woke her up with his lustful approach. She had dreamed of him. However, there was nothing in the entire world that could measure up to the sensation of his moist lips against her skin, savoring her slowly and delicately like an exquisite sommelier handling expensive and rare wines.

Hearing her hum and feeling her fingers across his toned back, House smiled contently against her chest. She was definitely his soul mate, always willing and ready for passionate lovemaking. Abandoning her sensuous chest, House possessively trailed wet kisses all the way up her face. Then tilting his head to the right he reached her neck.

"You are here," he unnecessarily pointed out, still overwhelmed by the petrifying sensation that had shocked his system just moments earlier, when he could not find her body next to his.

"Yes, I am," Cuddy responded nonchalantly, almost sleepily, wondering what he had meant by his last statement. "…and you've just interrupted my dream," she whined, starting to breathe heavily as the excitement started building up with each passionate kiss he placed on that particular spot on her neck, driving her insane with desire.

"Oh, really? I'm so sorry…" he apologized mockingly, still scorching her skin with his lips. _Gregory House had a way with her, an utterly exposing way to her body and soul, there was no doubt about it._ "May I know what it was about?" House asked with real curiosity while pushing her legs apart and smoothly nesting himself there, caressing her thighs.

"Mmmmm…something interesting…" she purred, getting more and more aroused by the friction of his manhood against her warmth and his continuous hungry kisses all over her sensitive neck.

"Like what?" he asked before claiming her lips in a hot kiss.

"Something pretty much similar to what you are doing right now." Cuddy replied after he broke the kiss, guiding his lips across her jaw and back to her neck, just under her left ear. At the same time she felt his big and skillful hand glide across her abdomen, reaching her sex and cleverly inspecting her wetness. The journey of his fingers was so exquisite and tantalizing that she could not help but cry in absolute anticipation.

"I can tell," he observed smugly, referring to the obvious excitement now wrapping his slender pianist fingers. "However _pretty much _implies a difference, which was…" A puzzle in her statement tickled his mind and he decided to get to the bottom of it, even if it required her to scream it out in pleasure. Thinking of his sweet devious plan, House grinned widely and continued circling his thumb over her pleasure pearl, making her shiver.

"You were moving inside of me, while doing that…" she revealed saucily, hugging his hips tightly with her legs and pressing his throbbing shaft against herself, invitingly.

"Yeah? He asked seductively, amazed by her hotness and sheer desire. Then, sliding inside of her absolutely delicately and slowly, he looked for a sensual confirmation. "Like that?" He swayed his hips gently so she could feel every inch of him flaring her nerve endings.

"Oh yeah…" she gasped, automatically shutting her eyes and arching under him. He slid one of his hands under her back, bringing their bodies closer together. She squealed at the overwhelming sensation of him in her again, for the second time that night, yet this time it was unhurried, patient, and more torturous. In her delirium, Cuddy pressed her body harder against his, melting into his skin.

He tried his best not to lose himself in the amazing wet tightness that urged him to move faster with each lazy thrust. He willed himself to move slower, kissing her jaw line lazily until she opened her eyes. Then he simply asked between his long and slow strokes as she writhed in his arms, gently biting into his shoulder. "And it felt good? In your dream, I mean…"

"Heaven." Cuddy replied, well aware of his teasing game and more than glad to play it along. Then she moved her head aside and whispered in his ear again, "Heaven." She bit and sucked the spot behind his ear, sending white hot chills through his body as she marked him with her teeth and lips.

"And this, how does it feel?" he asked provocatively, lifting her bottom and thrusting as deep as he possibly could without hurting her. A loud cry of pure pleasure instantly left her lips.

"Mmmmmm…incredibly hot, and sexy as hell," she managed to answer, still panting from the sudden change of depth in his lovemaking. He was clinging onto her possessively, hungrily, insatiably. Simultaneously, the new angle he found allowed him to reach that soft, alluring spot within her with every single thrust, and suddenly some ordinary activities like breathing rhythmically, keeping eyelids open and controlling pleasurable naughty sounds from leaving their lips became increasingly difficult. "Amazing," Cuddy pushed a verbal moan before her vocal cords gave up on her, completely.

After sensually and almost heroically lingering in that new position House was no longer able to control his thrusts since each one of them took him closer and closer to the blissful edge; his almost animalistic whimpers echoed against the walls of his room as she extinguished hers in the crook of his shoulder. "Can't get enough of you," he moaned into her ear as first stars started exploding before his eyes. Clenching his fingers around the crumpled sheet he gently nipped her earlobe as he knew she liked, noticing, at the same time, her wetness feverishly contracting around him.

The slight pain his teeth inflicted on her cartilage only made her climax more powerfully and in no time her core was convulsing in waves of pleasure, rippling against his sensitive skin; her toes curled up, her nails possessively scratched his back and her lips searched for his in an attempt to dance this dance together. He complimented her ripples with his own, losing himself completely in her, body and soul, for the second time that night. "Don't ever…" she softly pleaded in his ear as they struggled to catch their temporarily lost breaths, strolling together among the stars.

* * *

A/N

*Delivered to you from **Paris**. We all need love, right?

**Next chapter will be much, much longer as we shift towards the second part of this story.

***Welcome new readers. Please tell us what you think so far.


	41. Let there be morning

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 39~

**Saturday, April 7****th****, 06:30 am**

Cuddy lazily opened her eyes as her biorhythm ordered her body to wake up minutes earlier. Her professional body clock never failed her and this morning, just like many before, she woke up ready to resume her administrator duties. She had a conference to attend and God knew she didn't want to. She was still snuggled against House's chest. He had one arm protectively across her waist. A look at his peaceful face told her he was still asleep. She didn't feel like getting up, so she yawned and rolled over, as if to steal and savor the final moments of intimacy from the sleeping diagnostician. She refused to wake him up; knowing his unhealthy sleeping habits he probably needed it much more than she did. Yet, she hated herself for having to leave. Breaking that fragile, newly discovered bond between them seemed very wrong and very sacrilegious.

Cuddy brushed a feathery kiss on his lips and slowly got up, making sure not to wake him up in the process. Quickly she busied herself around his apartment, tiptoeing from room to room, gathering her belongings and figuring out how to make some preemptive damage control.

With one final look at the man she loved so much Cuddy gently placed his folded lounge pants and the Rolling Stones t-shirt on the indented pillow next to him. Then she smiled. It was a smile of love and despair at the same time. She didn't know how he would react waking up to an empty bed and that made her uneasy. But she had to leave; her responsibilities were breathing down her neck and at 07:15 am she slowly closed his apartment door behind her, rushing off to Princeton, New Jersey.

* * *

When House opened his eyes an hour later, his heart sank. He could literally hear it drop in his chest. Waking up alone in his bed meant only one thing, he had either hallucinated or dreamt it all. _Lisa Cuddy was not real_. They didn't make love all night. She didn't save him from himself.

"Why am I still in New York?" he asked himself and turned to the other side of the bed, where she allegedly slept just a couple of hours ago. Frantically he inspected the crumpled sheets, sniffing them. Her scent still lingered on the white cotton and that pleased his nostrils and his heart. _She was there, after all._

"Cuddy…" House brokenly called into the empty room propping himself onto the right elbow. When there was no answer he closed his eyes and sighed deeply, dropping his head back on his pillow. _So that was how betrayal felt_, he thought to himself while grabbing his right thigh and massaging it violently. When his heart hurt his scar seemed to be particularly vicious. Scooting over to her side House dejectedly dragged his body across the spacious bed in search of Vicodin, refusing to lose contact with the sheets that had hugged her body last time he claimed her lips. And while the memory seemed like the most pleasant dream ever, this morning was a pure nightmare for him. However, before he could get angry at her and withdraw behind his emotionless walls, he spotted her – _well, his to be completely honest_ – neatly folded clothes on the second pillow and a note on top of it. He yanked himself towards it and desperately, almost hungrily, started to read. Seconds later his facial frowns relaxed and he smiled at how well Cuddy knew him. He sprawled back on his bed, a boyish grin adorning his face now, and he read her note over and over again, holding it up in the air.

_

* * *

_

_House, relax. I didn't leave you. I have a lecture at 11 and, although many would enjoy seeing me give it in a silk-satin dress, I still need to change and give Wilson his car back. Thank you for the sleeping pants and the t-shirt even though I didn't use them much. However, I borrowed that hoodie of yours with a girl on a pole and a pair of sweatpants because I needed something warmer to drive in. I hope you don't mind. Speaking of the hoodie, it's great that you support 'single moms' like that. Now everybody will think I am a lesbian and I can already see that image appealing to you. There is fresh coffee in the kitchen although I fear it won't be fresh by the time you wake up._

_So... should I ask the maintenance department to prepare the biggest office on the fourth floor and let my lawyers know they will be working their asses off again? _

_Call me if you want your socially responsible hoodie back. __**Lisa.**_

_**

* * *

**_

For an hour Cuddy drove in silence, mulling over the events of the previous night and checking her cell phone every five minutes, making sure it was not turned on silent mode. She desperately wanted him to call her, to confirm that the night they had just spent together was not a mistake. She loved him; deeply, madly, irrationally and their night of passion only confirmed the extent of her feelings.

Mentally, she relived every kiss and every touch he bestowed on her lips and on her body, shivering from head to toe, her pelvis contorting in a pleasurable, pulsing knot. Suddenly, focusing on the road ahead proved to be extremely difficult.

"Damn conference…" Cuddy hissed through her teeth and hit the steering wheel with both of her hands, frustrated with the traffic and the fact that her cell phone was ominously silent. Biting her lower lip she rhythmically tapped her fingers against her thighs, waiting, sighing, cursing. Yet, it was the best morning of her life. She quickly smiled at the overwhelming memory of his last night's apology and fished for two Valiums in her purse, popping them quickly. She was not going to let the New Jersey's traffic spoil her mood. With that resolution she turned the radio on and searched for an upbeat tune to keep her going.

When she couldn't find anything decent on the regular radio stations, Cuddy switched to the reliable Sirius XM, tuning in to the _Rosie Radio_ hosted every morning by Rosie O'Donnell. It was a talk show designed to blend humor, pop culture and serious conversation with celebrity guests and listener calls. With Valium kicking in and Rosie's jokes Cuddy started giggling to herself, wiggling her toes in inexplicable excitement.

Seconds later the congested New Jersey traffic cleared and Cuddy bubbly steered her way towards Princeton while humming to the intermission song that was just starting, _Man! I feel like a woman!_ by Shania Twain.

"Oh you bet…" she said in between the lyrics, truly feeling like a woman for the first time in years. When her cell phone rang, she jumped in surprise, almost slamming on the brake. The sudden, yet highly desired sound, almost gave her a heart attack and she struggled to grab her phone, dropping it twice on the floor in front of the passenger seat. She couldn't help but smile when she recognized his voice.

"Coffee is still hot." House said lazily while pouring the steamy liquid in his favorite mug.

"Hmmm, I'm impressed." Cuddy replied seductively as her heart started thudding in her chest. The familiarity of his voice coated her ear drum, lifting her spirits higher than she could have ever imagined. "I wish you were that punctual on weekdays coming to work."

"I was cold," he added with a fake pout. "A certain sexy body left me shivering without my blanket. If I die of pneumonia it will be all your fault."

"I'm prepared to take that risk," she said laughing and imagining his boyish pouting smirk. "So, all my efforts to tiptoe around your apartment in order not to wake you up were for nothing?" Cuddy asked toppling the song's chorus with her excited voice. However that didn't stop House from hearing the lyrics and smiling devilishly to himself. He loved when Cuddy was in a good mood, and if he had something to do with it that made him cherish the moment even more.

"Feel like a woman, huh? I might have something to do with that," he announced teasingly, convinced that Cuddy was blushing on the other side at his remark. And he was right. He was always right when it came to her reaction to him. With the sexiest grin of satisfaction on his face, House took a sip of coffee.

"Suddenly you are a man of words." Cuddy stated with a light chuckle, blushing instantly as the images of their lovemaking rolled in front of her eyes. He not only made her feel like a woman, he indeed made her feel _alive_. Breathing had become much easier again.

"Words were all that greeted me this morning," he said, referring to the note she left on her pillow. Then he asked unexpectedly, completely throwing her off. "Did you really have to leave?"

"Running the risk of feeding your dangerously oversized ego, I must admit we would be having trouble right now untangling our limbs if it was not for this damn conference." Cuddy said remembering the night they had just spent in each other's arms. She didn't want to join the real world; seeking refuge in his embrace was a much better option.

"You didn't complain about my oversized…" House teased knowing that his sexual innuendo jokes would always provoke a reaction in Cuddy.

"House…" Cuddy half-heartedly raised her voice in fake reprimand. She dry-swallowed a lump in her throat at the image of his naked body. She felt flushed, all over again.

"What? You should have woken me up then. I hate even numbers," he added, insinuating that making love to her only twice was not enough for him. He was completely honest when he said that he couldn't get enough of her. He felt that insatiable desire for years; damn, for decades now.

"Didn't have the nerve. You had that cute pout face on, way too lovely." Cuddy explained girlishly, giggling and humming at the same time.

"What face?" House asked with curiosity, intoxicated by her flamboyant spirits.

"That mischievous smirk that doesn't sleep even when you do. Besides, you looked too worn out. I figured you needed some rest." Cuddy said honestly, now regretting for not waking him up to at least feel his lips on hers.

"Oh, just for the record missy, there are certain things in my life that I never get enough of..." House started but Cuddy quickly continued his thought, "…Vicodin, monster trucks, bets with Wilson, puzzles, and making evil pranks on your team…"

"…and making love to you." House finished, almost in a whisper, sending white hot chills down her spine. Saying it out loud felt so good on his lips.

"Want me to crash Wilson's car?" She breathed excitedly into the receiver trying to jerk her right shoe heel out of the rubber padding between the brake and the floor.

House wholeheartedly laughed, leaning over the counter in his kitchen and lazily sipping his coffee. "Sorry. Just so you know what you are missing because of that stupid conference."

"I love your romanticism. Too bad it comes in sneezes." It was now her turn to laugh back, truly enjoying their conversation; so light and yet so personal.

"But it's contagious." House replied with his trademark cockiness and quickly asked, remembering how much he missed his former life in Princeton. "I never had a chance to ask, how is my friend Jimmy boy?"

"Looking for a new best friend. He has grown tired of waiting for you to come back." Cuddy joked sensing the longing in House's voice and trying to approach the topic as lightly as possible.

"No, he hasn't. He loves me too much. I gave him the perfect opportunity to cure his obsession with neediness during my absence, but I bet it didn't work, did it?" House asked not knowing what kind of answer to expect.

"He had plenty of neediness available. Mine." Her blunt honesty made him shut up instantly. She heard him sigh on the other side and quickly continued, "But to answer question, he is saving my ass at the conference. With Laura's help." Cuddy quickly changed the subject refusing to succumb to the somberness of her own confession to him. His silence just proved that there were still many things to be worked out between them. Learning how to trust each other and how to better communicate were just a few of them.

"I knew she would rat me out eventually." House added sarcastically with a chuckle and limped back to his bedroom, stretching on his bed lazily. Talking to her made him relax. He felt invincible now that he knew she had forgiven him.

"Any reason to complain about that?" Cuddy asked pretending to be hurt by his remark.

"My back is scratched and I am sure I have a couple of hickeys…" he said with a fake protest. He would give a world to feel her lips on his skin right now.

"…and my butt has a purple bite mark." Cuddy said recollecting the image she saw in the mirror this morning. It not only made her laugh but also surprised by the extent of his possessiveness.

"Hey, you're lucky I'm not a tattoo artist because there is plenty of space to place a copyright warning." House said remembering her perfectly shaped bottom under his fingers and lips. Just the mere thought of it was turning him on. "And, by the way, I just bookmarked the spot so I know where I stopped."

Cuddy laughed so hard that she dropped her phone in her lap. People driving by her at that moment must have thought she was a looney bin case. When she finally brought it back to her ear, House asked with a sot of epiphany in his voice, "Hey, wait! Did you really leave the two of them together, Laura and the Wonder Boy Oncologist?"

"Yeah. Why?" A puzzlement adorned Cuddy's face. She wondered what he had in mind.

"Whoa, _little_ Jimmy sooooo did have a blast yesterday." House dragged his words in emphasis, triumphantly announcing his point.

"Aw, that is so sweet. Just because you had your way last night you want the same for your best friend. That's so kindergarten of you and soooo last year."

"Stop stealing my jokes. Get your own…" Again, a fake protest left his lips, making her secretly smile on the other end. He was so fun when he wanted to be. And determined. "…and I don't want anything. _I know_. People always think he is the nice one but only _I_ know what Robin is capable of. _Fifty bucks_ he did her."

"Laura rejected almost the entire football team when we were in high school. She is not _that_ kind of woman, and probably not his type. Make it a hundred that James spent the night with his virtual female company." Betting with House had its perks. He loved the challenge and she loved challenging him, and making money while doing it made it all worthwhile for the competitive hospital administrator.

"I have no idea where you hide them but my girl has balls. A hundred it is." Her heart stopped for a second when she realized that he had just called her – _his girl_.

"You are so going to lose it. _Deal_." Saying it she realized she wouldn't mind losing the money if that would bring him closer to her. Close enough to stay, to always call her _his_.

"And I want my shirt back." He suddenly demanded visualizing her in it. Actually, visualizing her taking it off, like she did with the Rolling Stones one when she asked him to touch her last night.

"You'll have to come and get it yourself." Cuddy said, testing the boundaries of their newly established bond. She needed to know how much he was willing to continue what they started last night.

"Only if you are wearing it." House played along, revisiting his previous thought again. Cuddy shirtless made his life living for.

"I'll see what I can do. I have to go now. I am gonna get arrested, state troopers are on my tail." She said hurriedly, a slight hint of concern coating her voice. She couldn't afford getting arrested for cell phone use and speeding on a highway; it would defeat the whole conference purpose and her sneaking out of House's bed this morning.

"Wanna try the handcuffs sometime?" House pushed knowing it would annoy her. Cuddy annoyed, in his opinion, was the sexiest thing alive.

"Shut up, House. I'll call you later." Cuddy announced ready to finish the conversation and drop the phone in her lap. When she heard his voice again, she brought it back to her ear.

"Hey Cuddles…" House called her in expectation.

"Yeah?" Cuddy said lazily looking around her, trying to detect how close the state troopers were.

"Tell Jimmy I'm sorry. I'll explain it to him later." His voice suddenly became distant as if they were several continents and oceans apart. House crucified himself between two things, regret for the past and fear of the future.

"Will do." Cuddy replied with a large dose of assurance wishing she could hug him right now.

"..and Cuddles."

"Yes?"

"Thank you." That must have been the closest he could get to kissing her verbally in appreciation. He was truly grateful to her; for saving his soul and his mind. In Darfur, Sudan he would have surely gone crazy. Not because of his work or the graveness of the medical and humanitarian situation. He would have gone crazy without her.

"You are welcome." His gratitude overwhelmed her and she smiled while getting off of the highway and steering towards her home.

* * *

A/N

*Miss Cuddles is back. More chapters to follow soon. Sorry for the delay peeps.


	42. Alea iacta est

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 40~

**Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, 10:30 am, Cuddy's Office**

By ten o'clock Cuddy was already in her office going over the lecture notes and making final phone calls before the main event. She felt butterflies in her stomach both from the last night's excitement and the one currently ahead of her. She had all the intention of making this conference a major professional success; Gregory House just gave her the motivation and strength she needed.

Thirty minutes later, Laura and James walked in, visibly flushed and excited. They caught Cuddy with a phone receiver on her ear, a pencil in her mouth and a pair of reading glasses on her nose. She motioned to them to sit down while she finished her conversation. Soon enough she turned to them with the brightest smile known to man.

"So, how did things go last night?" Cuddy asked looking at Laura who was grinning like a five year old who just got a new toy.

"Are you kidding me?" Wilson said with a genuine surprise in his voice. "Do you really think we are wasting our time on the conference details before you tell us all about your New York rendezvous with the fugitive?"

"James, don't worry, she's got that look on her face," Laura added, still grinning, while she placed her hand on Wilson's arm.

"What look?" Cuddy arched her eyebrow at Laura with mischievous curiosity. Deep down she knew what Laura had on her mind. That almost made her giggle but because Dr. Wilson was there she refrained herself.

"The same one you had when you got kissed for the first time and ran to me with all the juicy gossip, you little tattletale." Wilson turned to Laura, looking at her inquisitively. He had no idea what she was talking about.

Then Laura looked at Wilson, announcing triumphantly, "She soooo got laid!"

Cuddy jumped in surprise and half-screamed in fake reprimand. She definitely saw this coming since she knew her best childhood friend all too well. "Laura!"

"Dare to deny it, Lisa." Laura challenged her knowing how Lisa Cuddy responded to challenges.

"OK… I…" Cuddy hesitantly stuttered but realizing she was cornered, she admitted, "I got laid but so did you two."

"What? Who told you that?" Now it was Laura's turn to stutter and she nervously looked around the office trying to gather her composure. A slight hint of natural blush colored her cheeks.

On the other hand Wilson was utterly shocked so he quickly jumped to defend what ever was left of their dignities. "I didn't...We…we didn't..."

Cuddy smiled at both of their confused expressions and then pointed to Laura, asking firmly, "Then, why did you call him James?"

"Because we agreed we would be calling each other by our first names yesterday night when Wilson took me out to dinner," Laura explained, silently asking Wilson to back up her claims. When Wilson noticed her pleading look, he stepped in. "It was late and we were both starving so I took her to _Mediterra_."

"There was food at the conference." Cuddy refused to budge an inch. Attack was the best defense.

"You know I'm allergic to shellfish. They served shrimp."

Taking Laura's response as a valid reason, Cuddy turned to Wilson with an inquisitive gaze. Checking them both from head to toe, she asked the oncologist, "So you took her to _Mediterra_ huh?" When Wilson nodded silently in confirmation, Cuddy turned back her attention to Laura and matter-of-factly announced, "He sooo wanted to get into your pants."

"I _did not_ want to get into her pants." Wilson protested, feeling uneasy and blushing to the root of his hair. When his protests only earned him a questioning gaze from Laura, who was now arching her brows at him, he continued, "I was worried about you and House. And Laura needed to know what was going on. She deserved a dinner after helping me with the closing speech to cover your..."

"...my ass, thank you." Cuddy finished, smiling at Wilson's uneasiness.

Laura and Wilson looked like two kids caught with their hands in a cookie jar and Cuddy quickly decided to make that scene ever more interesting. Quickly she picked up the phone and dialed the renowned diagnostician in New York City. To their ultimate surprise she announced into the receiver, giggling smugly, "You owe me a hundred bucks, House. They didn't do it."

"_Seriously? What the hell is wrong with him? Did he take her out?" _

"He did. They had dinner at Mediterra." Cuddy explained, failing to take her eyes off of the couple sitting across from her.

On the other side, House squealed in surprise, his eyes widening with every uttered and emphasized syllable. _"The Mediterra? And she said no to him? Man, that's coooold."_

Cuddy chuckled girlishly leaning back in her chair and running her fingers through the disheveled curls. "Your best friend decided to fill her in on our story instead of, well, filling her in."

Wilson's eyes widened in shock. He wasn't aware of this blunt side of Lisa Cuddy. Softly, he whispered to Laura who was overwhelmingly approving of the Dean's behavior. "Did she just scrutinize my sexual life in front of you?"

"Lack of…" Laura brusquely whispered back.

"Excuse me?" Wilson asked with a lump in his throat. This woman amazed him more and more with each passing minute.

"Lack of sexual life, to be more accurate." The Mount Sinai Dean of Medicine explained herself with a seductive smile on her lips.

"_I'm gonna call him a pussy first chance I have"_ House said on the phone making Cuddy laugh ever more. She loved being in the middle of their friendly quarrel for some reason. It made her feel included; it made her feel a part of his previously inaccessible life.

"He is here right now. Well, both of them are. Astounded by our little refection on their relationship. Want me to put you on the speakerphone?" Cuddy asked already knowing House's answer. He wouldn't miss rubbing this into Wilson's face.

"_Sure."_

"You moron! You embarrass me in front on my boss! Hi, Laura." House delivered their standard banter, greeting his present boss in the process.

"Hi, Greg." Laura greeted back.

"He was not like this when I met him. I have no idea what happened in these last couple of months." House explained to his current boss deliberately avoiding to address his best friend. He wanted to provoke a reaction and soon enough he got himself a confirmation.

"You haven't spoken to me in four months and the first thing you say to me is _moron_?" Wilson fired back at the speakerphone. Then, pretending to be hurt and annoyed, he asked, "Why am I still your friend?"

"I have no idea. But I am willing to forgive you for ruining the mythical image I had of you considering the fact that you let Cuddy borrow your car to come and see me _if_ you pay the hundred bucks I owe her, how's that?"

"Wait, wait. Which were the exact terms of the bet?" Laura asked bubbly.

"House bet a hundred bucks that Wilson did you last night and I get a hundred if he didn't." Cuddy explained amused by Wilson's apparent dismay. Oh God, she was having fun; for the first time in many, many months. She couldn't tell if it was from Valium or House or pulling pranks on Laura and Wilson. Somehow it didn't matter. She was happy.

"Hmmm. Did me? Let's see, this is veeeeery vague." Laura dragged her words in emphasis with a naughty cat grin on her face. She was a pure incarnation of mischief when she wanted to be.

"Laura..." Wilson called out pleadingly, trying to prevent her from proceeding. The unstoppable train of her words was heading for a complete disaster.

"I have the fairest solution for this impasse." She quickly looked at Wilson and playfully demanded, "James, pay her a fifty."

"Whoa Jimmy boy! I knew it! That's my friend!" House said, exuberantly cheering from the other side. He secretly wished he was with them and not all alone in New York City.

Cuddy looked at Laura, almost dropping the phone receiver. She should have learned this life lesson long ago; _House was always right_. Arching her brows, she asked her best friend, "Hey, who did whom here?"

"Lisa Cuddy, you used to be way more discrete!" Laura raised her voice with a simpatico chortle.

"I have to know." Cuddy replied in a very business-like tone pretending to be serious about this, "How will I be sure that the percentage I am receiving is correct?"

"Oh my God, this is not happening." Wilson mumbled to himself, lowering his head and rubbing his forehead with his fingers. All three of them were impossible embarrassing him like that. If House saw him blushing like that right now he would pick on him for the rest of the life.

"Hey Jimmy boy, don't be so modest. If you tell your secrets I promise I'll tell you mine!" House delivered with a recognizable flamboyant cockiness as if he was standing, right there, in the office with them.

"Gregory House, don't even think about it!" Cuddy raised her voice, directing her mouth towards the speakerphone. Tapping her fingers in fake annoyance, she looked at the other woman and devilishly said, "Come on Laura, we don't have a whole day. Let's hear it."

"Hearing the story about you two made me very tense last night. I would have needed a pill to relax but Jimmy took care of it, didn't you?" Laura admitted to Wilson's undeniable astonishment as she cupped his face in her perfectly manicured hand. He just blankly stared at her unable to say a word. At the same time Cuddy and House overdosed on mischievous grinning.

"Thank God, life makes sense again. Wilson, just pay her twenty even though she doesn't deserve a dime." House said with a fake exhale of relief.

Seconds later House was off the phone, laughing smugly to himself, and Wilson ashamedly sneaked out of Cuddy's office, still shaking his head in disbelief. Could a pair of strong-willed women put him through such torture and embarrassment? Smiling to himself, actually happy for both of the girls, he found his answer and headed towards his office. As House said it, life made sense again.

Cuddy got up from her chair and approached the other Dean of Medicine, drawing her into a hug. Then she playfully whispered into her ear, "I don't remember you being so slutty."

Laura hugged her back and with a smile added, pure honesty dripping from her words, "It's all your fault. You introduced him to me. I didn't know an oncologist could be so _handy_." When they finally broke apart, Laura looked around and in semi-shock asked, "Wait. Where is James?"

They simultaneously started to giggle as Cuddy placed her small palm on Laura's back. "I am sure you'll find him blushing in his office. Let's go. I'll be late for my lecture."

* * *

**A/N**

*We promised you quicker updates. You gotta promise us your support.

**Andie **&** Nixon

***Alea iacta est = the dice has been cast (Latin saying)


	43. Tale bearing

Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.

~Chapter 41~

**Cuddy's Office, same day, afternoon**

Cuddy was standing by the window, staring into nothing, deeply immersed in her thoughts. She tried reliving the moments that had brought her joy and wondered why time and destiny brought her to a place where she only had her blessed solitude to embrace. She never realized how far she had journeyed through time while thinking. Although she appeared to be an isolated silhouette to many, she knew that she was not alone. Not anymore.

That was where Laura found her, with a mysterious smile on her face, when she walked in carrying two cups of steaming-hot coffee. Running busy all day they didn't have much time to talk so Laura decided to use the afternoon break between oncology and cardiology lectures to catch up on the juicy gossip.

"If your lower parts confirm what I can read in your eyes, you must be sore," Laura said as she walked around the coffee table and sat down on the office couch. She leaned back into the cushions and crossed her legs while inspecting Cuddy's face with intense curiosity.

"I hope to deal with this particular soreness much more often from now on," Cuddy replied, grinning widely, and joined her friend on the couch. With her left hand she reached for the cup and brought it to her lips feeling immediate satisfaction on her lips. Caffeine was exactly what she needed and Laura, obviously, knew her well.

"I'm glad you guys had a chance to talk. Wilson was telling me how hard it had been for both of you." Laura got to the point right away, itching to hear all the details but refusing to push beyond what her best friend could take. She would let her open up slowly. In their iron-clad friendship she was always the sensitive one.

"Did he tell you everything?" Cuddy wondered. Dr. James Wilson wasn't particularly known for secret keeping and there was a great chance he had blabbed it all out to Laura.

"He said you and Greg lost your baby. That was enough for me." Laura responded truthfully, revealing the only detail Wilson volunteered last night. He seemed very selfish and protective of the details surrounding their particular story.

"Until yesterday I was sure I had gone with Dylan. I felt numb, lifeless, hopeless." Cuddy admitted looking down at her coffee, gathering her thoughts and her emotional strength. Bringing back this topic was extremely painful for her but somehow, sharing it with Laura, it suddenly seemed cathartic.

"Oh my God, Lise. Why didn't you call me? I can't believe I had no idea you were going through this." Laura reached for Cuddy's right hand and gently squeezed it, infusing a much-needed dose of support. Her slightly younger best friend was always the fragile one and in constant need of assurance, no matter how often she put up her invincible, professional masks.

"I didn't call anyone. I was still trying to find a way to tell my mom I had gotten pregnant when I got sick and..." Cuddy withdrew her small shaky hand from Laura's grasp, attempting to hide her fragility. Still looking down she clasped her fingers around the styrofoam cup, inhaling deeply. "She doesn't even know I've been pregnant."

"Aunt Esther would be really pissed if she found out you were having a shkutz's son." With an honest attempt to lighten up the somber mood that enveloped them both Laura threw in some of their fondest childhood memories in, hoping to steal a smile from Cuddy. Aunt Esther was always the one who kept them both on a tight leash, making sure they behaved like proper Jewish girls.

And indeed Cuddy smiled, raising her big blue eyes to Laura. "How about an unknown goy's son?"

Laura arched her eyebrows in confusion. "What do you mean unknown? It was Greg's..." The palpable puzzlement in Laura's words was soon cut short by her friend's quick explanation.

"I got pregnant though in vitro fertilization. I picked an anonymous donor but House switched the samples so I got pregnant with his baby, and of course, he didn't have the guts to tell me about it." Laura was shocked beyond belief and all she could do was stare wide-eyed at the PPTH administrator who seemed unusually calm.

"Hold on a sec," Laura stuttered when she finally found her ability to speak again. "So, you are telling me that he knew you were pregnant with his baby and didn't tell you about it? Why the hell would he do that?"

"I know you didn't have enough time to get to know Greg very well, so let me just give you the basics. His actions very rarely make any sense." Cuddy pointed out twirling the bracelet around her wrist, obviously fighting the nervousness that crept down her spine. Her mind and heart were far away from finding peace any time soon but sharing the pain with someone she trusted was a first step towards it.

Laura was truly baffled and many questions plagued her curious mind so she started with the most obvious one, "Hmmm. So it seems. But when did you find out that the baby..."

Cuddy quickly interrupted her and corrected the vague term _baby_ to his rightful term. The meaning of her life had a full name picked out. "Dylan."

Laura looked into Lisa's watery eyes and immediately realized how difficult this still was for her. The innocence of her face, the sadness in her eyes, the beauty of her physical presence against the astute strength of her mind were completely perplexing to her but extremely fascinating at the same time. While she wore her fragility on her sleeve, her strength was immeasurable and Laura deeply envied her for that. Finally she mustered the strength and asked, "... that Dylan, was his?"

Without hesitation, and proving Laura's fascination with her, Cuddy fired away. "When I woke up from the anesthesia he was in my room, drunk and high, holding my diary and repeating _I'm sorry_ to exhaustion."

Laura knew Gregory House was blunt and crass but she was not aware of the fact that he would go that far. She shook her head and slowly inquired, "Did he read your diary?"

"Yes." Cuddy simply replied awaiting more interrogation. This conversation had an almost healing effect on her.

"Don't tell me you had written something about..." Words could not explain Laura's bewilderment and pure shock. She couldn't believe she was hearing this. Her best friend literally went through a living hell.

With an uneasy chuckle, Cuddy admitted. Seeing Laura's wild expression almost made her laugh. Lightening the atmosphere, she finally added, "Nothing major. Just _I love you_, _I wish you could be the father of my child_, _I can't have you. _Those kinds of things…"

Cuddy failed to put Laura's mind at rest so the _big sis_ demanded the full truth quickly, "Did he make any comments about it?"

"When I told him I would never forgive him and to get the hell out of my face he simply said - _but you love me_." Cuddy visibly relived those moments in her mind, slightly shivering.

"Son of a bitch!" Laura jumped in her seat and fully turned to Cuddy, clearly emphasizing each word. "You were way too nice just sending him to hell. I would have killed him with my bare hands."

"I was not nice, and this was not everything..." Cuddy inhaled sharply still feeling the ghostly remnants of the pulmonary embolism and continued, now almost whispering. "The disease I had was genetic. Greg's mom had it when she was pregnant with him and he passed the genes on."

"Wilson told me you had a serious case of HG. It's easily treatable if diagnosed early," Laura pointed out knowledgeably as the doctor in her never rested. Then she quickly smirked remembering the course of events, "…but he never told you..."

"Yeah, he could have avoided it. That's why I didn't forgive him. That's why I treated him like dirt and turned his already miserable life into Dante's hell. That's why I pushed him out of my life until he quit and moved to NYC." A palpable regret coated Cuddy's now trembling, feeble voice as she recounted her story to Laura. And while Laura understood the regret, knowing how much Cuddy invested herself emotionally into the entire ordeal, she fully supported her decision. Her reaction was a gut instinct, self-preservation of sorts and reason, much less heart, rarely had any say in it.

"I didn't know any of this when I hired him. I found it weird that he had no letter of recommendation but he was _the one and only_ Dr. Gregory House. I had to have him on my staff. At one point I thought about calling you but he asked me not to or he would leave." Laura tried to explain, to defend her actions as the burden of an unintentional accomplice plagued her soul. She should have acted upon her own instincts and checked out House's story. Things could have been different for all of them.

"Second lesson about Greg - _he always thinks of everything_." Cuddy stated wondering how come, this time, his foolproof plan fell through. Was it destiny?

Still the House/Cuddy puzzle seemed far from complete. Many things did not make sense to Laura. So she continued her direct grilling, "So why did go you after him? What changed? I mean, you must have hated his guts."

"December 24th changed everything. I came here for some files to work on at home during the holiday and I found his resignation letter and his iPod in my desk. With only one song on it." Cuddy fished for his iPod in her purse and presented the undeniable evidence, slowly placing it on the table in front of them.

"Which song?" Laura asked locking her gaze with the worn-out device in front of her. Gregory House was anything but dull or predictable.

"Goodbye my Lover by James Blunt." Cuddy swirled the coffee in her cup and then it brought it to her lips, taking one long, almost hungry sip. Her esophagus welcomed the relaxing liquid as she tried to dissolve a lump that formed in her throat.

"…and I'll say it again. Son of a bitch!" Laura squealed, demonstratively lowering her cup next to the iPod. She was utterly pissed at House's behavior.

Cuddy shyly smiled at her reaction. Laura's expressiveness was amusing even when there was nothing to laugh at. "I have no idea how I survived through the holidays, all alone at home."

"God. I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you, Lisa. I am sorry we grew apart after college. Our careers consumed us." Turning around in her seat she slowly scooted closer to Cuddy and took her small hand in hers. Giving it a gentle squeeze, Laura looked into Lisa's eyes, fully aware of her own remorse. Cuddy understood.

"You have no reason to be sorry, Laura. You brought him back to me. You told me where he was so I could prevent him from leaving for good and taking the rest of me with him." Squeezing her hand back in assurance, Cuddy added, "For that, I thank you. You helped me save myself."

Laura smiled, truly touched by her words. Seconds later a tear rolled down her beautiful face, leaving a tiny trail of mascara. "Nonsense. I am the one who should be thanking _you_, my dear, for introducing me to Dr. James Wilson."

"You like him, don't you?" Cuddy asked reaching out to Laura's cheek, whipping the tear with her knuckles.

Dr. Laura Rubin, a cardiologist by training and profession, had a really hard time controlling her own heart; her bubbly nature was so contagious that once she started talking it was impossible for her to stop. And Cuddy loved that about her. "He must be the sweetest man I have ever met. At one point I was sure he was either a mirage, or gay, or a psychopath or something…couldn't figure out what was tainting his perfection until he told me about the alimonies..."

"And three ex-wives..." Cuddy added with a heartfelt laugh.

"And a dead girlfriend. Yeah, he told me." Laura said with a confused smirk on her face.

"As far as I can see that wasn't enough to stop him from sliding his long and skillful oncologist fingers in your panties, was it?" Cuddy asked shamelessly, wiggling her own fingers in demonstration.

Now it was Laura's turn to laugh and she demonstrated, with her beautiful, pearly white teeth, why it was so easy to fall in love with her and her disarming smile. "Can you be any cruder?"

"Sorry, I am still pissed that you made me lose my money. To Gregory House, nonetheless." Gregory House already owned her heart, her soul, and her body. Losing a wee eighty bucks was insignificant compared to that.

"You should have seen the look in Jimmy's eyes when he told me what happened to you guys; the genuine concern and affection. I've never seen a man caring this way about anybody, let alone about a couple of friends." Laura failed to recognize Cuddy's remark about House since she was deep in her thoughts with the Wonder Boy oncologist. She was beyond infatuated.

"James is a great guy, Laura. He has been there for me all this time even when I threatened to cut his salary and when I used him as my personal punch bag." James Wilson was truly her life vest in the last four months. He kept her afloat and breathing when she was ready to give up. "He is everything you have seen and more. If you are waiting for my blessing, you already got one. Go for it. He is loyal and passionate, and as busy and successful as you are. He won't bug you during the day and will be ready to spend some quality time with you after work, pampering you with his food and, I assume, sweet lovemaking after." Being busy and successful would create a bond of longing between them, exactly what they both needed and Cuddy quickly recognized it; Wilson's neediness and Laura's desire to belong, to anchor herself. "You are perfect for each other. He needs a strong-willed woman like you. A woman that knows exactly what she wants."

"We have another date tonight. Baby sis, I need your input on lingerie." Laura quickly changed the subject, sighing like a teenager in love who was passing notes during study hall.

"Sure. We can go to the mall after the last lecture. I could use something sexy too; I haven't felt pretty in a long time." And that was the cruelest truth of all. Lisa Cuddy failed to take care of herself for the last four months, neglecting her own mere existence. That was about to change.

"Hey, what about you? Do you confirm the theory about make up sex?" For Laura curiosity was the very basis of education and if you told her that curiosity killed the cat, she would tell you only that the cat had died nobly.

"Mmmm….it was, oh boy. But I wouldn't call it a make up sex. It was truly a '_bring back to life'_ experience." Cuddy announced with an unhidden excitement in her voice. Laura was aware of the fact that her friend was also vividly reliving it in front of her eyes.

"I am all ears. Fill me in."

"Last time we were making out, before, you know…" Cuddy stopped waiting for Laura to get in sync with her story. She wanted her to understand that all of this had happened before she lost Dylan. "I stopped him and he promised he would never touch me again unless I asked him to."

"And he brought that up yesterday?" Laura asked with an inquisitive smirk on her face, already knowing the answer.

"Of course he did. Third lesson about Greg - _when he means it, he means it._" Cuddy replied.

"Oh. What did you do when he mentioned it? Did you have the guts to ask him?" Gossip was the tool of the poet, the shoptalk of the scientist and the consolation of the housewife, wit, tycoon and intellectual. It started in the nursery and ended when speech was past. Gossip, for them today, was the much-needed soul food.

"Not only did I have the guts to ask him, I removed his shirt I was wearing and placed his tremulous and sweaty hand over by my naked chest. You should have seen his face." Cuddy announced triumphantly, blushing profoundly at the same time and feeling heat at the roots of her curly hair. And to be completely honest, throughout her body.

"No fucking way! I worship you, Lisa Cuddy! And how did he react?" The juicy story was so enthralling that Laura felt like biting her perfectly manicured nails. It seemed that Cuddy got House in line.

"He put your words into action and took me like no other man ever could." Cuddy replied softly, shying her eyes away from Laura's probing gaze.

"SSS material?" Laura leaned forward giggling girlishly as she used their secret college code.

"Screaming, sweating, and smiling, and waking up the neighbors, and almost passing out." The look in Cuddy's eyes was a motion picture in its own right with pride and enthusiasm beaming from every pore of her being.

"Do you think Greg and James share the same skills, besides the friendship?" Laura suddenly asked as if she remembered something.

"Probably. He called Wilson mythical, didn't you hear?" Cuddy indulged her back with an honest answer, giggling at her question.

"Lise, have I told you how much I love you?" She discovered with great delight that one did not love another human being just because they were a human being but because of the friendship that formed while loving them and watching them grow as a human being.

Cuddy laughed extending her hands to her best friend and drawing her into a small hug. Then she semi-whispered into her hair, "But haven't told you the best part yet."

Laura jumped in surprise and looked Cuddy straight in the eyes. "It gets better? Oh my, I will need a CPR." They both laughed instantaneously at Laura's remark, while the Mount Sinai administrator fanned herself in excitement.

"Right after my first orgasm…" Cuddy started eliciting a specific facial expression from Laura. _First orgasm_ implied that there was more than one and Laura mischievously arched her eyebrows, waiting for the rest. "…I was like, I don't know, high I guess, staring at the ceiling and finding something really funny about it. After a period of pure ecstasy I noticed him staring at me." Cuddy finished, leaving it a bit cliffy for her best friend. It was almost like a guessing game between them.

"Waiting patiently for his turn?" Laura cockily asked, grinning from ear to ear.

"So I thought. Then I pointed to his…ohm…oh my God, thaaat was epic." Cuddy stuttered slightly. Her cheeks were visibly flushed from both embarrassment and excitement. They haven't been this close in years and Cuddy sincerely missed it. She missed confiding in Laura like she did when they were in high school and college. Laura Rubin was the only one who truly deserved her confidence.

"How big?" Laura inquired without shame, her green cat-like eyes widening with interest.

"Way more than enough. God knows I had a hard time in the beginning." The PPTH Dean admitted feeling an incoming shortness of breath and struggling to keep her heart rate stable. Laura didn't miss her dilated pupils.

"Hard time huh?" Laura asked smugly, waiting for Cuddy's jerk reaction.

"You are impossible!" Cuddy screamed in delight, hitting her friend on her upper arm in fake protest.

"Well, I got this base covered. I think House and Wilson may have met at the _'Too big and too good to be true'_ Club." For Laura life was too short to be little. A woman was never as womanly as when she felt deeply, acted boldly, and expressed herself with frankness and with fervor.

"Hey you didn't say anything about going down on Wilson." Cuddy stated, pleasantly surprised.

"I am a grateful woman, Lisa. That is the dynamic of life: _you give, you receive_."

"As I was saying, before you astonished me with your lack of decency, I pointed down at him and said it was time to take care of him. Do you know what he said?" Cuddy asked feeling completely at ease with herself and her sexuality in front of her best friend.

"No. Spit." Laura impatiently demanded.

"He said that the night was about me and my needs, and that he was fine." Cuddy delivered at Laura's request making her choke on the sip of coffee she had taken seconds before. She almost spit it out in surprise.

"Ow, you are funny. Which dirty thing left his mouth?" Failing to believe her words, Laura started making faces, mocking the whole situation.

"I am serious."

"No you are not."

"Yes, I am."

"Fourth lesson about Greg – _he is in love with you, Lisa Cuddy_." Laura said, deeply locking her eyes with Cuddy's, silently forcing her to accept this universal truth. Men never willingly restrained themselves from sex unless they were deeply and unconditionally in love. Gregory House seemed to have gotten it bad.

"I do hope so," Cuddy sighed, not completely convinced by Laura's words and then continued as if to defend her own lack of faith, "Well, at least that was what I read in his eyes when he told me to look at him while he made me _his_, completely."

"So you generously attended his needs on your special night, didn't you?" Laura devilishly wiggled her eyebrows at Cuddy, smiling at the images verbally presented before her.

"His needs are my needs. I need to touch him as much as I need him to touch me. I adore the feeling of him moving inside of me, bringing me back to life. Fully, without reservations. I crave his releases as much as I crave my own and I love watching him collapse against my chest, in total surrender. That makes my life worth living, L."

"Did you tell him that?" Laura asked with a more serious tone now as the conversation shifted in that direction.

"It's not that easy." Cuddy admitted, going back to her bracelet and twirling it nervously.

"Working this out must be really difficult but living without him is clearly impossible for you, sweetie." Laura placed her hand across Cuddy's, calming her nervousness and infusing some senses into her. She needed constant assurance that what she was doing was essentially right.

"You have no idea how hard it was for me to leave his embrace and drive back to Princeton. Even taking a shower at home this morning was a big deal because I knew it would wash his scent off of my skin." Cuddy felt betraying tears form in her eyes and she lowered her head in an attempt to control them.

"So what's stopping you guys? You both screwed up royally and paid an incredibly high price for your mistakes. It's time to move on. Rehire him, start a relationship, plan another child."

"He still has a 2-month contract with you, boss." Cuddy tried to lighten up the mood again.

"OK, it's not the end of the world, you can wait two months. You are not one of Wilson's patients." Laura joked back, unhappy with the direction of the conversation. But ghosts had to be faced, sooner or later.

"Yeah but I can't give him a child, Laura." And the tears came; first a few and then they stubbornly fell in streams down her porcelain cheeks. Lisa Cuddy's tears were so ingrained in her face that Laura thought she could have been crying for a year.

"Wait. Why?"

"I can't have children anymore. My age and the induced abortion they performed…" Cuddy's sorrow was so overwhelming that it threatened to break Laura's heart and she felt helpless, motionless.

"Oh my God Lisa, I am so sorry. Noooo…" Laura brought her suddenly shaky hand to her lips, realizing graveness of the situation. She felt as if additional layers of pain had been added to her friend's unhealed wounds.

"My dream died with my baby. His baby." Cuddy said slowly, choking on her tears and feeling Laura's hands on her shoulders.

"Come here, Lise. Oh sweetie, I didn't know." Laura hugged her tightly as tears streamed down both of their faces. She cradled her little sister in a loving embrace, extinguishing her muffled sobs in her shoulder. Managing to keep control of her voice, for Cuddy's sake, Laura finally said, "I am back to your life right now, you hear me, missy?"

"Uh huh." Cuddy replied, still sobbing into Laura's expensive jacket.

Lifting Cuddy's head and wiping her tears, while simultaneously offering her a smile of reassurance and support, Laura playfully asked, "Are you ready for the lingerie shopping?"

"But we still have a lecture to attend." Cuddy lightly protested.

"Lingerie shopping with your BFF vs. a boooring cardiology lecture, are you serious?"

Cuddy smiled with a feeble sniffle. "OK. Let's go!"

They both got up, straightening their suits, and walked towards the door. Then Laura turned as if she had forgotten something, "Good you reminded me that House is in New York for a couple of months."

"Yeah? Why?" Cuddy asked still trying to fix the mess of her face with her shaky fingers.

"Because we'll be having some interesting conversations during that time. I'll send him back to you smooth like a feather." Laura cockily replied forcing Cuddy to earnestly laugh and remark joyfully, "Ooops, seems like my boy is in trouble."

"Big time." Laura announced as they stepped out into the real world again, facing the crowd that lazily mingled around the lobby. Then she said with a disarming grin on her face, "Let me go get my purse from Jimmy's office. What is a girl without her credit cards?"

"I know, right? I'll meet you by the front door in 10 minutes." Cuddy smiled, escorting her best friend with a grateful gaze.

_Sometimes we put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down._

* * *

A/N

*Chapter terminology:

**Tale-bearing** – Jewish term for gossip.

**Shkutz** – the most commonly used term for an anti-Semitic man, extremely derogative but mainly used as a joke.

**Goy** – the most commonly used word for a non-Jew.

**Sorry for the delayed update but this time Andie decided to take her sweet tush for vacation and it's hard to work without my apprentices. I'm like House without his white board, magic ball, Vicodin and the much-needed cane. Yup, I am a writing cripple. **Miss C**


	44. Explanation to readers

**Dear Readers of **_**True Lies**_** and **_**Indecent Proposal**_,

Thank you all for your support emails and private messages requesting and urging me to keep writing. Well, the good news is, **I haven't given up** on my writing. These two stories are very dear to me and, through them, I have met and worked with some extremely talented and wonderful people. To cut my soliloquy short and to make you all happy, I just wanted to let you know that there has been a valid reason for my absence (deep personal and professional problems) and that I should be going back to writing soon, along with Andie, my TL partner in crime.

In terms of the story layout, _True Lies_ has about 20-25 chapters left (as mapped) and _Indecent Proposal_ either 3 or 4. Your reviews/feedback and support were always my greatest driving force and I hope you will continue to offer it.

Yours truly,

**Miss Cuddles**


	45. Important info

Dear readers and friends,

Due to an unexpected and a very painful event that occurred yesterday (March 15th) to me and my family, I need to inform you that I will be taking a short leave of absence from writing. I was looking forward to reconnecting with all of you again during this week, through _Indecent Proposal, True Lies_ and the new story, _Ibogaine Nights_, but unfortunately I have been prevented by very aggravating circumstances. I hope you can understand and you will bear with me for a little while. Then, I promise, I will be back.

When the writing recommences, I will take this announcement down.

Yours truly,

**Miss Cuddles**


	46. Sad news

Announcement to readers of Indecent Proposal, True Lies, Jerkiness, Complicity, Incubus and Reencounter:

* * *

**On March 30th my dear friend, writing comrade, True Lies co-writer and an amazing human being, my ANDIE (Andressa Matos) passed away from a heart attack. She was buried on March 31st at Jardim Metropolitano in Fortaleza, Brasil.**

* * *

Your spirit will always live with me, baby. Through our long conversations and the stories we wrote together and all those sleepless nights plotting how to change the world. I can't believe I am saying goodbye to you, Andie but I guess it's not a goodbye, cuz I will see you on the other side. I am sure we'll meet again. This world will never be the same without you.

So, I am not gonna say goodbye but _so long princesa_, I hope you've found peace where ever you are. I will always love you my dear friend!

Please remember her in your prayers, remember her stories and how much she loved [H]ouse and Hugh Laurie. She spent the night before she passed away watching House.

_**Andie, you were truly one of a kind and you will always live with me.**_

Yours,

Nikki


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